


A for Asshole

by thebookhunter



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (how is this not a tag it's one of my favourite incarnations), Biker Thor (Marvel), Featuring Jason Momoa as Svadilfari, From Asshole to Worthy, I should probably mention Loki is a tattoo artist so, It's going to be hard, M/M, Now With More Plot, Painful journey of self-discovery for Thor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with A Li'l Bit of PLot, Porn with Feelings, Sad backstory (poor Loki), Surprise True Love, Surprise feelings, Tattoos, also that Thor loves bikes so, asshole!Thor, but for fucking once Loki will take no less, forceful (not forced) unexpected sex, go Loki baby, why must Loki's taste in men be so pessimal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter
Summary: "Thor is a Class A Asshole. What a fucking shame. He is also the most beautiful thing Loki has seen in his entire life. He’d be willing to make many allowances for that face, that body, that blinding smile, but the truth is, the man is an Asshole of the highest order, an irredeemable, unbearable jerk."I just felt like writing this idk.





	1. A for Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> Had this in the backburner for months, bc I guessed it needed... more? But more isn't coming, and I just... Yeah.
> 
> If I feel like expanding, I'll make it into a series or something. Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> And also, please, suggest titles, maybe?
> 
> Update: AmandaHuffleduck you wonderful human being, THANKS FOR THE TITLE

Thor is a Class A Asshole. What a fucking shame. He is also the most beautiful thing Loki has seen in his entire life. He’d be willing to make many allowances for that face, that body, that blinding smile, but the truth is, the man is an Asshole of the highest order, an irredeemable, unbearable jerk. Worst, he’s a _dudebro_. 

Him and his mates had been regulars long before Loki started working weekends in the bar, trying to make ends’ meet while he’s on trial part-time at the tattoo parlor. Fresh out of art school, apart from some newspapers runs, he had never had a real job in his entire life. He lied about having experience working with the public to get this one at the bar. Not that it mattered that much, he guessed, it’s nothing but a watering hole on the outskirts of this small town. He had only been nervously taking his very first orders ever, when Thor burst in like a conquering army, with his entourage trailing behind, and the neck of that outrageously beautiful brunette under his arm. They went straight to that cluster of tables at the back. A minion was sent to give Loki their order of a dozen beers and snacks. It took three fucking trips to get the whole thing to the tables, and none of them deigned to lend a fucking hand. On the contrary, while Loki was setting down the second round, two of them were arguing (not sure if they were horsing around or serious) without any regard for the poor guy trying to deliver their fucking drinks right beside them. He got a shove and spilled some beer on the table in front of Thor.

“Shit, sorry,” muttered Loki. There were more guys around that table, just as big and burly, but Loki was only worried about him. He rushed to wipe it off with the towel hanging from the back of his jeans.

“I suppose there goes your tip then,” was all Thor said, with a dazzling, prize-winning, shit-eating grin, and that husky, dark voice. A pants-melting bear voice, if bears could fucking talk. 

Loki threw him a glare and gave him a tight, insincere smile. Always proud, he walked away for the third tray of drinks. He thought he could feel Thor’s eyes on him at every step he took towards the bar, but he must have imagined it.

Thor was talking and laughing rowdily with his mates when Loki returned, and didn’t so much as look in his general direction once for the rest of the time he was there. Loki also tried to ignore him, but like it or not, he seemed permanently tuned to his every movement as he played pool, as he groped his girlfriend, as he flirted with another three girls who seemed willing to take him home and share him. 

And sure enough, when the group left, they didn’t leave him a tip. Bastard.

 

The Asshole and his entourage came to the bar pretty much every Saturday, took over that corner of the bar, always occupied the same cluster of tables, ordered beers and snacks, stayed for a couple of hours, and then went on their merry, rowdy way. Loki was usually tense as a coiled spring whenever the time for their regular scheduled appearance approached, and he remained tense all throughout their stay. He only fucking breathed when they left. What he didn’t get was the low feeling he was left with whenever he watched them go away. 

He became über aware of himself while they were around, constantly fearing tripping on his own feet, or saying something lame, or just generally fucking up, even though they probably didn’t even notice he was there. They barely talked to him, as if he was invisible or a fucking robot, and this is how Loki learned a thing here and there, overhearing snippets of conversation. That although he looked like a contractor of some description, Thor worked downtown, in his dad’s firm of finance something or other. That these were old school or high school mates, Loki deduced a mix of both. That they were joined in their love of big motorbikes, and had formed some sort of unofficial gang. That last summer they had got in with an actual gang of bikers, and Thor had half-intimidated, half-charmed their way out of trouble, for which all his mates still thought he deserved to drink for free. And more than anything, Loki had confirmed his earlier impressions that Thor was incredibly full of himself, that he was indeed a spoilt, entitled brat, used to getting his way in all things with a wink and a smile, probably coasting on his dad’s hard work, and no fucks to give about it. He was convinced that the sunshine came out of his ass, and what was worse, he seemed able of convincing anyone about it. 

How could such a massive asshole be so sexy, Loki could not fucking understand. At least, after that first night, he usually did leave a tip. 

The thing was, he often felt like Thor was watching him. He had only really caught him staring a handful of times, but hell, when he had, the fucking shiver he had felt, as Thor’s eyes lingered on his, electrifying. He shouldn’t really be wishing that the Asshole was secretly interested, should he? He supposed society programs you to crave the attention of the Alpha Male, and if there was ever a Male to fucking Alpha, but still, man, he’d tell himself, have some fucking pride… He drew in the light, the jerk. Oh, Loki’s taste in men had always been pessimal, but he was clearly hitting new lows. 

 

“Your order, gentlemen,” said Loki, as he unloaded his tray on their table. He had _not_ purposely timed the delivery with Thor’s absence. He was not fucking afraid of him, okay?

But as he turned around to make for the bar, Thor was there, right behind him. Loki had mastered the casualness and keeping a steady pulse in Thor’s vicinity, and successfully held onto the tray, but having him materialise all of a sudden about one inch away from him was a startle, okay? 

“Uh, excuse me,” he muttered.

Thor gave him a smirk.

“Don’t worry about it,” he rumbled, eyes fixed on his.

The _asshole_. The _bastard_. Loki clenched his jaw. That was not polite. And also, he wasn’t fucking moving. He was going to make Loki circum-fucking-navigate him. 

“Somebody’s hormones are kicking,” mused Darcy as she poured a jug.

“Lay off me,” grunted Loki.

 

 

Time for his break. At the back of the building, by the small parking lot. A fag between his lips, about to light it. Somebody fucking swats it out of his mouth.

“What the…?”

Thor’s right in his face again.

“I hate the taste.”

Loki opens his mouth to give him the reply that deserves, involving the words “fuck” and “you”, but he finds it full of Thor’s tongue, and his hands fucking everywhere. He can’t react. He can’t think. He’s kissing back. Thor has his hands in the pockets of Loki’s jeans, has found the car keys. For a moment, Loki fears he’s got it all wrong, that this is a distraction manoeuvre to fucking mug him.

“Where’s your car?” mumbles Thor right against his skin.

Loki couldn’t talk if he tried, even if Thor’s mouth wasn’t still trying to devour his fucking soul through his skin. Thor pushes the button on the remote, and backs Loki towards the car that beeped alive. Opens the door, grabs a handful of Loki’s hair, and shoves Loki down and inside. 

On his ass on the back seat, Loki has about two seconds to take stock of the fucking whirlwind that’s overtaken him. He sees with a mixture of anticipation and astonishment that Thor is already undoing his pants standing by the car. He pushes them down (no underwear), and Loki’s jaw drops. _Fuck_. He’s big, he’s half-hard already, and he’s fucking gorgeous. Thor’s face appears, and the rest of him follows. Then his hands on Loki’s pants, unbuttoning by means of hard tugs that lift Loki off the seat. Loki gets scratched when he’s having his jeans pulled down. Then Thor climbs inside and slams the door shut.

How are they even going to fucking do this. It’s not a huge car, and Loki is tall, but Thor is fucking massive. Thor manhandles him as if he’s weightless, hot fucking _damn_ , Loki on his knees, folded on himself, face squashed against the window, and Thor takes position behind him. Loki hears him spit. What? Wait wait wait fucking wait…!

“We need lube!” He sounds fucking shaky.

“Don’t have any.” So husky, hot damn.

“G-glove compartment.”

Thor uses him as leverage to reach, Loki’s face squashed even harder. Breathing with difficulty with his neck twisted like that, Loki has another moment to think of what’s going on. Not long enough. Thor is perfunctorily slapping some cold lube on Loki’s ass, and without any prep at all, he lines up, pushes hard, and pops the head inside. It’s a pretty fucking big stretch, and Loki can only praise the heavens that he’s such a size queen and all his toys are girthy, and get lots of regular use. Thor is not a total brute, nor is he exactly careful, and god, is he not all in yet? Loki whimpers softly.

“Shh…” soothes Thor, one big hand on Loki’s hair, stroking roughly, but with tenderness. (Looking back on it, Loki thinks this is the moment when he was irreparably done for.)

Full and stretched, ass burning, and suffocating in heat and pressure, every inch of his back now in contact with Thor’s hot, hard body, Loki’s heart is beating rabbit fast. And now Thor is all in. He squirms behind him, getting into a better position, one foot on the floor, and Loki moans softly as he feels him shift inside. Hands on Loki’s hip and shoulder, he manhandles him some more, until he has him where he wants him. There is not enough room, so when he starts fucking him, it’s in short movements, a constant, burning drag. And he’s picking up speed. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels like a fucking lot to take without the least fucking bit of warning, and as aroused as he feels, Loki’s cock is limp, offended by the lack of consideration.

Thor’s hand hooks mercilessly around Loki’s neck, gripping hard. Now and then, a quick pass over his scalp, digging his claws in. God, yes, that. And his breathing. Loki enters a strange trance. Less than five fucking minutes ago, he was about to have a smoke. Now there he is, squashed uncomfortably in his car, with Thor ‘Class A Asshole’ Odinson’s cock up his ass, being plundered for all he’s got. 

Thor is cursing and swearing. He’s not satisfied with the set-up, apparently, because he stops, sits back, pulls Loki back with him. Now Loki is on his lap, leaning down to fit under the roof of the car. 

“Up,” commands Thor. 

Loki lifts his ass, grabs the handle on the door to help support his weight. Thor takes hold of Loki’s hips, and moves him back and forth as he fucks up in time to clash their bodies hard together. Loki has to brace himself against the roof to avoid head trauma, but yeah, ok, that’s clearly an improvement. Thor is on a fucking piston, in and out of him quickly and relentlessly, like a dog. Loki lets out a strangled whimper, the first undeniable sound of pleasure he has made since this all started. Thor’s hand digs deep into Loki’s hip, there’ll be finger-shaped bruises there in the morning. Loki is very hard now, so fucking hard, and leaking, and Thor is hitting him just right, and he’s going on and on and on without slowing down, and Loki’s pretty sure he’s going to fucking die from this, and there’s no other way he’d like to go.

“Fuck…” he sobs, and bites his bottom lip hard.

Twenty minutes. Thor fucks him like that, like a beast of the wild, for twenty fucking minutes, groaning and grunting and breathing hard, until Loki’s balls are about to fucking explode, until there is nothing but the drag and slam of Thor’s cock in the entire universe, until he’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to sit down again. 

Except for a brief moment of clarity. There is no condom in sight.

“D-don’t come… inside me…” he begs.

Thor doesn’t say a word, and keeps fucking him. Loki should insist, shouldn’t he? Not that he isn’t in trouble yet, probably, if Thor’s got something. God, all he can think is don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…

When the time comes, Thor shoves Loki up and away, and pulls out roughly. His grunts get huskier and more urgent, slick, wet sounds behind Loki’s back. Loki turns his face to see, and beholds in awe an orgasm face that’s the visual equivalent of a choir of angels, as warm ropes of come begin to splatter his ass and back. (Well, at least that.) (Oh, shit, his t-shirt…)

He hasn’t got any time to get himself together before Thor has pulled him back onto his lap, grabbed hold of Loki’s cock, and begun to strip him hard and fast. Loki comes making plaintive, high-pitched, desperate little sounds that embarrass him, but he’s just been hammered by a force of nature for twenty minutes in the back of a parked car, and he _is_ fucking desperate, thank you very much. Thor’s breath on his neck, on the side of his face. His own spunk all over the fucking back seat, and possibly on his jeans.

Boneless, panting heavily, Loki rests on Thor’s lap. Then there’s two thick fingers shoved between his lips. He tastes himself, or at least he thinks it’s himself. A husky whisper that caresses the shell of his ear.

“Next time, I’m going to fuck this mouth.”

And that’s it. Thor shoves him off and slips out from underneath him. He opens the door, gets out (there is a sensation like air is being sucked out of the cabin, Loki is probably just being dramatic), and then the door is slammed shut again. 

Out of the corner of an eye, through the window, he sees Thor tuck himself in and walk away while he’s still buttoning his jeans. Loki is sitting bare-assed on his come-splattered seat, cock still plump on his thigh, jeans bunched halfway down his thighs, panting, mind blank. 

His hands are shaking as he fumbles in the glove compartment a few moments later for something to clean himself up with, and they’re still shaking as he fumbles clumsily with his own buttons. He feels sticky and dirty, and he can’t fucking begin to tell what hit him. It’s only starting to sink in that this has happened.

 

The boss shouts at him for five minutes when he gets back, in front of the patrons, (in front of Thor and his gang), Loki’s ass still throbbing. He takes the pounding in silence, like he took the _other_ pounding.

  Thor leaves soon after, with his dozen friends and one arm again hooked over his girlfriend’s shoulders. He never even looks at him again that night. 

Loki can fucking feel him whenever he moves and even standing still. 

“You’re damn useless tonight,” grumbles the boss a few times. 

 

 

Thor’s smell hits him like a fucking wall of bricks when Loki gets in his car. It does things to him, localised mainly in his lower stomach.

 

He’s still sticky and sweaty, and Thor’s scent is on him, and he should have a shower, but he tells himself he’s too tired, and just goes to bed. Sleep doesn’t come easy though, his mind filled with glimpses and sounds and sensations, his ass still burning and throbbing, the ghost of Thor’s touch on his hips, his back, his hair. That whisper repeating itself on a loop until it doesn’t mean anything, “Next time I’m going to fuck this mouth.” Next time, next time, next time.

 


	2. B for Blow me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suck at one-shots, I keep saying that.
> 
> That goes for Loki too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have a liiiiiiittle bit of plot for this.

 

First things first. Monday morning, he asks for a couple of hours off to go to the clinic. Svad doesn’t ask what for. They haven’t been speaking much lately, for reasons, so why _would_ he ask, but it’s the _way_ Svad doesn’t ask that is making Loki really fucking bitter.

It’s not the first time he visits this place for STD tests, not the first time he gets the safe sex talk from the doctor. She’s the greying motherly kind, reminds Loki of the oracle in _The_ _Matrix_. Loki is never happy to whip his dick out for her, or spread his butt cheeks (as he wouldn’t be with his granny, may she rest in peace), but he knows she has steady, delicate hands, and that it only takes a moment. He’s still kinda disappointed he’s not getting a magic cookie of fate out of the whole ordeal though.

“We’ll call you when the results are in,” she says. “Help yourself to some condoms on the way out, won’t you.”

“I have condoms,” says Loki.

“Then use them,” she says, as she levels him with a pair of huge brown eyes over the rim of her shell glasses, eyes that must be very, very sweet when she means them to be. He almost, almost tells her what happened. _I was surprise-ravished in the back of my car. I got my brains fucked out of my fucking ears for twenty fucking uninterrupted consecutive minutes by a golden porn god. Lady, had it been your party, you would have forgotten the condoms too_.

 

Slow week at the tattoo shop. Svad has Loki answering the phone and doing piercings, but only the boring ones though. When there’s no one, Loki draws, dreams. He’d once wished for his own place, perhaps even this one… That’s over now. Now he dreams of touring tattoo fairs and doing stints as a guest artist in the choicest shops in the world, his instagram followed by thousands, getting commissions from around the planet, working only with the best. Not going to happen if he doesn’t put a proper portfolio together. _Be patient, Lokey-pokey, things takes time_. But god, he won’t be touring the world any time soon by piercing fucking septums. Worse, when neither he nor Svad are busy, the silence between them gets thick as treacle.

So the remote throb in his butt is actually a welcome distraction from his current predicament. Yes, it reminds him of his own helplessness in the face of that Asshole hunk, and it’s annoying. But it also unleashes a quick, messy tumble of flashing images in his head. That powerful body taking Loki for all it had. Their sounds. That fucking grope to the back of his neck. _Next time I’m going to fuck this mouth._ With things in the shop as dire as they are this week _,_ Loki won’t complain for the change of air. It’s only that... what is it about Loki that no jerk in the area can resist? Why can’t he catch the eye of a decent guy, for once?

 

Saturday arrives before Loki has decided on any plan of action regarding Thor. He doesn’t have a clue what he’ll do if Thor tries anything again. As in, surface level, Loki is _totally_ going to tell him to fuck off, of course, no question. Who the fuck does he take him for and all that. But just a little scratch, and the veneer of determination gives way and shows the actual mess beneath. What chance has Loki got? He’s just so fucking starved for something to get him out of his brain, out of his fucking life as it currently stands. Hey, give him a break, four months ago he had his heart broken by the one he thought was the love of his life. He’ll take what he can get. At least Thor does not pretend that he fucking _cares_. And of course, one good thing about the lack of courting and conversation is the absence of lies. With Loki’s standards as they are, that constitutes a sad improvement.

So Loki serves drinks, cleans glasses, wipes tables, smiles for tips, and pretends to himself that he’s not keeping an eye on the clock at all times, and that he’s _not_ fricking loving the churn in his stomach as the minutes go by and ten thirty approaches.

And bang on time, enter Thor and his pals. And there he is, all in black leather, a red t-shirt that might be painted on, jesus christ. Thor zeroes in on him, eyes cobalt blue; Loki feels an undeniable shiver. He used to get them before, but there’s a big difference now. Before last Saturday, Loki didn’t know what those looks were about, and they unnerved him and intimidated him. But now Loki _knows_. Thor fucking wants him, as simple as that. And all of Thor’s shenanigans are the grownass dudebro equivalent of pulling Loki’s piggytails in the playground. Well, guess what, Loki’s not fucking scared of playground bullies, never fucking has been. So he goes about his work with leisured assurance, confident in his power over that big blond hunk. Instead of feeling thrown off every time he catches Thor looking, Loki gets a boost. And because it feels so fucking good, he struts it, he flaunts it. He swings his ass when he walks, long strides. He doesn’t fix his hair immediately when his bun starts getting loose. When he does, he doesn’t rush it – his t-shirt rides up when he lifts his arms, the gesture showing off his collarbones and his neck to their best advantage. Whenever he’s loading up a tray by the bar, he leans over to put his butt on full display.

Thor seems to sense what he’s doing, and he seems happy enough to play along. Even surrounded by pretty girls who play pool with tight t-shirts and low cleavages, if Loki looks over his shoulder after walking by Thor, he’ll catch him ogling his ass. It’s undeniably flattering to command the attention of the top dog in the room. Loki might be glowing a little.

However, for all his confident stance, Loki knows he’s not in control of this. He’s fucking horny, he’s feeling way too flattered, drunk with it, and he wants this much too much. Right now, he’s Thor’s bitch. He suspects Thor knows this. And it’s sort of worrying that Loki only gives half a fuck about that.

 

Break time. Loki goes for nonchalant as he makes for the side door to the parking lot. He does _not_ throw a flirty look over his shoulder before he gets out, but not out of disinterest or pride, but calculation.

Instead of leaning against the wall, he walks to his car, faces the bar's back door. Whatever happens, it’s not going to catch him by surprise this time.

Sure enough, it’s been less than thirty seconds and the door is opening. Loki surges on a rush of validation, he shivers as he watches Thor approach with a predator’s strut, all two hundred pounds of pure golden muscle in black leather, that red t-shirt several sizes too small. He gets nearer, and nearer, and nearer, he gets in Loki’s personal space, and then he gets in his fucking face, crowding him against the car. Loki’s breath has picked up already.

“My my, you’re keen,” says Loki. Kudos for sounding cool and collected when his pulse is doing all sorts of things.

“Fascinated,” drawls Thor.

“Was I that good?”

“No. But it was promising,” smirks the asshole.

“Be still my heart,” Loki scoffs.

Thor strokes his jaw, thumb on Loki’s lip, his eyes pinning him down. Loki’s _heart_ , good god. He’s positively trembling now.

“You really think you’re god’s gift to mankind, don’t you,” says Loki.

Thor chuckles, doesn’t give him a smart reply. He just leans in for a kiss.

“Oh dear,” says Loki, turning his face away. “I’m afraid I’m on an asshole-free diet these days, sorry.”

Well then, it seems like Loki has finally decided what to do about Thor. He always did have a contrary streak. He lights up a cigarette as Thor fixes him with a pair of steely eyes. He takes a deep drag, hollowing his cheeks around the filter, and blows the smoke into Thor’s perfect face.

Thor laughs. He _laughs_ , the asshole.

“You’re funny,” murmurs Thor, and he almost looks endeared.

Pinning him to place with eyes that make Loki feel like prey, Thor presses his thumb on Loki’s lips until they let him in, then pushes it past his teeth, into his mouth. Loki’s frozen, those darkened, glazed eyes making hot things creep up and down his spine, up and down the inside of his legs. His breathing has fucking ceased. He feels invaded, in a way that has him trembling and burning like a flame.

But he’s not one to be so easily outdone, and Thor is going to find that out in a second. Meeting Thor’s eyes as if he wanted to burn them, Loki slowly slides his tongue on the thumb inside his mouth. Then he seals his lips around it, and sucks it hard. Arousal makes Thor’s face do very distracting things. He’s almost too fucking beautiful to be real.

He’s also an unrepentant fuckwad, remember? How fucking dare he. So Loki _bites_. Thor hisses as the playful nibble turns into a vicious grip, teeth sinking in, but he never stops smirking. When the metal taste tells him he’s broken the skin, Loki releases him, and spits. Thor keeps on smirking as he checks the red marks indented in his flesh. He seems unfazed and pretty fucking amused. How annoying.

“I thought you didn’t eat assholes,” he says.

“You’re funny,” says Loki, and takes another long drag.

Why isn’t Thor leaving. Why is he leaning closer. He whispers right into Loki’s ear,

“So why don’t you fuck _my_ mouth.”

Loki frowns at him. Has he heard that right?

“Huh?”

“I give really good blow jobs,” Thor whispers. “You can even deepthroat me. I can take it.”

Loki _has_ heard him right. _Gulps_.

“You… suck cock?” he says, fabulously eloquent.

“Think about it,” says Thor, and winks. He strolls back into the bar.

Loki stays exactly where he is, cigarette forgotten in his hand, and indeed, he’s thinking.

For the rest of the evening, Loki can’t get it out of his mind. That smug fuck on his knees, the mighty alpha male, taking it. His mouth open, his jaw slack, Loki’s holding his dick, rubbing it on Thor’s lips, on his tongue. Thor licking him. Loki grabbing his hair and shoving it deep. Coming all over that fucking golden face _._  Loki spends the rest of his shift with a semi, and whenever their eyes meet now, he gets a fucking hot flash. Oh, that asshole, well fucking played. He’s got control of the conversation again. Never really fucking lost it, did he?

And yes, fuck, Loki would love to be fucked again by this animal. On a bed this time, with plenty of room and plenty of time. He’d totally lie down for him, front or back, or get on all fours, and very happily take full advantage once more of that strength and that stamina. He’d ride that dick to Happyland and show him some moves.

But he couldn’t possibly, could he? He fucking shouldn’t. I mean, where’s his pride? His dignity? A good fucking lesson is what Thor needs, not Loki’s dick in any way, form, or fashion, let alone his ass.

But. _But_. There was something so awkward about how Thor had said it. _“I give really good blow jobs.”_ Sounded kinda… clunky? Not his smooth, über-cool usual self at all. It was... endearing, in a way? How jarring it was? Just what the fuck is Thor all about? Loki can’t figure him out at all. He has no idea what his game is, with his downtown white collar job and his stupid leather biker gang, with the pretty brunette he hangs around with so much, and then all the other girls, and where does little old him fit in all of this.

Anyway. Tonight, Loki doesn’t want to assume, and he doesn’t want to presume, and he doesn’t want to do very much at all, really, except enjoy the fucking palpitations whenever their gazes meet, and whenever Thor throws his head back and takes a swig off his bottle (his mouth closing around the rim, a flash of pink tongue, his throat working). Because, for the entire evening, while Loki is thinking of gorgeous blond hunks on their knees, he never once remembers Svad. When was the last time he was able to go for an hour, let alone four, without Svad haunting his thoughts? Yes, Lokey-pokey, pat yourself on the head. This is progress.

Thor and his gang leave some time before closing time, as always. Thor turns to the bar from the door and, indeed, he finds Loki watching him. He smirks like a smug champion asshole. Loki grits his teeth, and hates him.

 

Closing time. Loki finds Thor in the parking lot, leaning against a big black bike. Loki’s stomach drops to his knees. And you know what? Fuck pride, this feels so much better.

Gulping, he straightens up, whips out his phone to look busy, adopts a nonchalant attitude, and walks to his car. Sure enough, he hears footsteps approaching, no rush. Loki’s heart is racing, pure anticipation. He stands stiff and still by the car, hand on the door handle, listening, waiting. There it is, the press of a hot body all over his fucking back, warm breath on the back of his neck.

“Let’s go to your place,” whispers that hoarse, dark voice.

 _Shit_. If only Loki could control his fucking breathing. He sounds like a cornered animal.

“Sure, let’s show the likely psychopath where I live,” he scoffs, keeping his face front, just in case he also _looks_ like a cornered animal.

Thor’s hand on his, oh god, so fucking hot and big, a touch that’s almost a stroke, before it clamps around Loki’s wrist tight. It’s pulling Loki’s arm back, twisting his shoulder. Gently, but there’s a promise of restrained strength there that’s pretty fucking intimidating. Loki turns around, panting hard, furious as much as anything else, to find Thor smiling like the massive shit-eater he is.

“Let go,” grunts Loki, tugging and twisting his wrist trying to get free, but so fucking husky he can’t barely produce sound. And he wants to look angry, but he’s fucking panting with arousal, for some really annoying reason that has a little too much to do with the way Thor is looking at him, how fucking close he’s standing, and how fucking hot that asshole is.

With eyes that take no prisoners, Thor brings Loki’s hand to his mouth, and sucks Loki’s first two fingers.

 _Gasp_.

Thor’s tongue plays between Loki’s fingers, and always, fucking always, a gaze like a branding iron, Loki feels like a butterfly pinned alive, fluttering his wings helplessly. When Thor’s eyes squint darkly during a particularly long, strong suck, Loki gasps out loud. Goddammit, dude, get some fucking chill!

“Your place,” insists Thor. He leans closer, his breath brushing Loki’s face. He whispers. “I’ll suck you so hard your pretty eyes will go pop.”

Loki’s fucking dizzy. Also, was there a fricking compliment there somewhere?

“If it will make you shut up,” he says. And he wanted it to sound aloof, but yeah, no, no chance of that with his throat bone dry.

“Lead the way,” says Thor. The smirk he gives him, god, Loki wants to scratch his fucking eyes out.

Thor turns on his heels and saunters to his bike, swinging his ass. The way he shakes his golden mane before he puts his helmet on makes Loki’s jaw go slack.

Loki gets inside the car, slams the door shut, breathes deep. Fails twice to slip the fucking key in the ignition. More deep breaths, goddammit.

If Darcy was here now, she’d tell him what a fucking idiot he’s being. That he’s in a vulnerable place right now, and that he’s letting his baser instincts make decisions the upper levels of his mind won’t be thanking him for later. That what he should give Thor is a fucking kick in the nuts.

But he wants this. He fucking wants this so bad. He already cut himself out of something that felt very fucking good to try to do the right thing, the clever thing, the healthy thing. Not a day has gone by that he hasn’t felt cheated. Because he sure as hell isn’t feeling clever, and if if this is what healthy feels like, maybe he prefers _wrong_ and _sick_ after all.

He drives with a lot of white noise in his mind, trying to shut down the voice inside that tells him that he shouldn’t do this. He spots Thor in the rearview mirror, his powerful leather-clad thighs astride the black bike, a few strands of yellow hair under the helmet, those broad shoulders, all that raw power like a steam engine headed Loki’s way. He sees himself as that fucking bike. _Fuck you_ , he shouts at the stupid warning voice in his head, _I do what I want_!

He parks two streets away, finds Thor standing by his bike, helmet under his arm, cocked hip, that stare. Loki swallows. It’s a quiet walk from the parking lot to his apartment, and another quiet walk up the three flights of stairs. No jokes, no banter, no flirting, nothing to lighten up the atmosphere, which by the time they get to Loki’s door, is thick enough to butter toast.

Fumbling for his keys in the dim light of the landing, ironically, Loki has a flickering moment of clarity. Look at you, you’re fucking shaking. Why does he allow this asshole hunk turn him into a blob of jelly? Have some fucking pride…

“Open the door,” rumbles Thor behind his back.

Oh, he’s so fucking _annoying,_ and Loki’s had enough of being made to feel like a fluttering baby bird. He turns around, gives him a shove.

“Listen, here, you fucking…”

Thor kisses him.

“ _Grmbl_!” protests Loki. Thor cradles his face to make sure he can’t escape, and fuck, that’s a fucking good kiss, and Loki’s grumbles soon melt into soft moans, whether he likes it or not.

Then Thor’s hand on Loki’s crotch, stroking, almost gently. Loki’s reaches down, in theory to dislodge him, but somehow his hand ends on Thor’s, and they’re both working him so, so slow and good. He sighs into Thor’s mouth. “ _Hm…_ ” Thor’s hand anchors between his legs, it squeezes, almost fucking lifts him clean off the floor.

“ _Hmpf_!…”

Thor’s mouth on Loki’s neck. Loki’s so fucking turned on he can’t keep his eyes open. Next Thor is undoing his zip single-handed. Slips his hand inside. His palm, so hot, finds Loki’s flesh. Frees his cock. Tightens around it. Twists.

“Fuck…”

“You want it?” mutters Thor between kisses, stroking Loki’s dick lazily. “Do you want me to suck you?”

Loki tries to force him down, the leather of the shoulders of Thor’s jacket cold and soft under his hands. Of course, he might as well be pushing a fucking brick wall, for the chance he has at making Thor move.

“Ask me,” whispers Thor, stroking his dick tenderly, his thumb doing expert things in all the right spots. “Tell me you want it.”

“Fucks sakes…” grumbles Loki, still pressing on Thor’s shoulders. “Come on!”

“Ask for it.”

Does he always have to pull some shit?

“Suck me!” groans Loki.

Thor chuckles darkly. He whispers.

“You have to ask nicely.”

“Oh for fuck’s sakes! Suck me! Please!” whines Loki, Thor’s hand groping him steadily, enough to drive him insane, not enough for anything else.

“Beg me…” whispers Thor.

“You’re such a fucking _asshole…_ ” groans Loki, smashing his head back against the door in frustration.

Thor’s thumb does the thing right under the head again. He’s so delicate. His mouth on Loki’s neck. His tongue, light and nimble, then a long, deep suck.

“Fuck…” whimpers Loki, squirming, throbbing. “God, please…”

“Please _what_.”

Oh, who even fucking _cares_. He begs.

“Suck me. Please. Suck me…”

Thor kisses him again, so deep it reaches down to Loki’s fucking marrow, and then just like that he starts going down on his knees, right there on the fucking landing. Without any more ceremony, he yanks Loki’s pants down under his ass. With the sudden cold, Loki’s mind clears up somewhat.

“Shit, _wait_ …” he gasps. He fumbles for the door knob.

Thor’s hand closes around the root of Loki’s cock, his lips tighten up around the head. He sucks.

“Ah, shit…” gasps Loki, shivering. He grabs Thor’s head. His hair is so soft.

His tongue is going to fucking town, root to tip, slicking him well, then under the head, flicking fast. Loki’s losing his mind.

“Wait…” he sighs. He vaguely remembers he meant to say they should really get inside.

A long deep suck, and Thor begins to bob his head. Loki’s knees might just fucking give, he holds onto Thor’s shoulders for dear life. And just like he fucking promised, Thor is taking him a bit deeper with each pass, until Loki’s cock is touching the back of his mouth, and then deeper… His throat contracts around him, and his lips are stretched around the root of Loki’s cock, and Thor’s eyes are tearing up but still he’s tugging at Loki’s balls, and looking up at him, his eyes almost entirely black. Loki bites his knuckles, to stop himself from making an embarrassing sound.

Thor pulls back, to give himself a break, but soon he has one hand on each of Loki’s buttocks, and he’s urging him to move.

“Fucking _god…_ ” whines Loki, as his hips take over.

And while Loki is melting against the door, Thor takes it like a fucking champ. When he needs air, he pushes Loki away with calm authority, and when he’s good to go again, he grabs Loki’s ass, strokes it like a crystal ball. It’s slow, a fucking agony. Loki wants to really go for it but Thor is keeping him on a low gear. He’s never going to come like this, and he might just fucking die trying.

Noises from one of the floors below. Loki freezes, heart in his mouth. Thor seems pretty untroubled. He simply pulls back, wipes his mouth, and stands up. Loki’s all big desperate eyes – he’s not going to leave him like that, is he?

“Let’s get inside,” says Thor, leaning close, a rasp in his voice. “I want to fuck you.”

Loki would kill right now to come. His pants are halfway down his thighs, his cock hard and bobbing in the air, the beginnings of a fucking cramp in his calf from standing on the tip of his toes without realising. He can barely think, let alone work a fucking lock. And the light on the landing is just shit. He has to bend over to _see_. And of course he feels Thor’s straining groin pressing against him, hard, bulky crotch seams digging into his ass. He almost, almost wishes Thor unzipped and did it right here, against the door.

Thank god, Loki finds the right key, turns the handle. He stumbles inside, his legs half caught in his jeans. Thor’s arms around his waist stop him from a full-on faceplant. He laughs, the asshole, but his arms feel good.

“Bedroom?” he asks.

“That way,” murmurs Loki.

Thor holds him up a couple of inches and carries him. Loki lets him, never fucking makes a sound of protestation. Nothing that’s happened tonight should feel so good, and yet it fucking does, and right now he doesn’t care.

And he fucking embraces the punch of arousal when Thor throws him onto the bed face down like a ragdoll. Loki stays exactly as he has landed, lets Thor yank his pants down to his ankles (without taking off Loki’s boots that’s as far down as they will go), he puts his hips up obediently when two big strong hands pull at him.

He hears rustling of clothes, half-opens one eye. Thor is getting rid of his jacket, then unzipping and pushing his pants down. Loki looks at his cock, hard and dark and as fucking big as he remembers.

“Have lube?” asks Thor.

“Bedside. Drawer,” he mutters. “Condom,” he adds, thinking of Doctor Oracle.

“Really?” Thor sounds disappointed.

“Yes, fucking really,” says Loki, mustering some energy. “Or keep the fuck out of my ass.”

Thor huffs something. He bends over to fumble in the pockets of his jacket, on the floor.

“I’ve got some,” says Loki.

“You have them _my_ size?” says that smug asshole.

“Try. My boyfriend was hung like a fucking horse,” says Loki, with a smarmy edge.

Thor sits up, throws him a squint Loki is not sure what to make of. He rips the packet with his teeth and slips the condom on. Loki passes him the lube. Thor slicks himself, lines up. Loki grabs the sheet.

“Go slow,” he mutters, tightly.

“Shh,” hushes Thor, and presses. Loki’s tense like a fucking spring now, remembering what that massive girth felt like last time. “Shh,” coos Thor. He whispers. “You’re okay.” He rakes his fingers all down Loki’s back. Loki arches into it. Then there’s one thumb going into his hole, pushing in. “Good?”

“Hm…”

Too fucking good. One moment later, Thor is fucking him slowly with two fingers. Loki’s on his knees, chest on the mattress, ass in the air, stroking himself, moaning softly.

“You fucking hot bitch…” grumbles Thor.

He slips his fingers out, and Loki braces himself. He feels him against his flesh. When Thor presses this time, he breaches him easily. He’s still so fucking thick though. Loki whimpers, his back tenses, but he’s slick and Thor’s in and he’s got him. He bottoms out, his big hot hand on the back of Loki’s neck again, a rough grope.

“Good boy,” he whispers. “Good boy.”

Loki buries his face in the pillow. He’s sobbing. Thor begins to fuck him. He’s going slow and deep. It’s agony. His hand stroking obsessively Loki’s thigh, his hip. Then he’s pushing Loki’s t-shirt up, bundling it under his armpits. Then yanking.

“What the fuck...!” snaps Loki, who has been trying with all he had not to beg him, and is this fucking close to promise pretty much everything he’s got if Thor will just fuck him hard the way Loki needs.

“Up,” says Thor, pulling him up.

Loki props up (Thor’s cock impaling him, feeling deep down to his fucking sacrum), and realizes what Thor is up to. He’s trying to take Loki’s t-shirt off. He’s trying to see his ink. And now he’s feeling it with his hand, tracing it. Now is when a polite lover says how beautiful it is, or something. Thor says nothing, and yet Loki is shivering under his wandering fingertips.

“Fucking move already,” grunts Loki. And he would give something if he’d never heard that fucking smug chuckle ever again.

Thor grabs his hips. He slams himself in, pushing the breath out of Loki.

“That what you wanted, petal?”

If Loki had a smart comeback, the next slam wipes it out. Thor goes for it, hard, fast, rocking Loki wildly; Loki has to fucking brace himself on the headboard, and still he ends up with his face smashed against the wood. The sounds Thor’s wringing out of him, Loki should be embarrassed. But he’s not, he fucking isn’t. It’s fucking cathartic, cleansing, to feel this good again.

Over his shoulder, he sees Thor’s face, concentration and effort expressed with nothing but a deep frown, a clench in his jaw. Oh, when he bites his lip, Loki feels a ridiculous pang of triumph. And when he next looks around and sees Thor looking down to where his dick connects with Loki’s ass, why does that feel good? He should be worried. He should try and remember that he has a very unhealthy propensity to getting attached too quickly to huge gorgeous men who fuck like porn stars. And by all means, he should stop fucking trying to make eye contact.

Loki gets lost in it, like last time. Thor is like a fucking metronome. If it wasn’t for his huffs and his grunts, so unmistakably animal, Loki could just think he’s being pounded by a machine. He might just fucking come on that gorgeous cock alone. He’s willing to try.

Then Thor just stops.

“ _Fuck_ ...!” Loki’s _angry_. He was definitely on the stretch home.

Thor flips him, puts Loki on his back on the bed. He’s sweating, but his face is serene, focused. He’s currently very busy unlacing Loki’s boots. There has to be some mutual cooperation for them to come off, so they join efforts. The jeans only need a couple of forceful yanks. Loki has watched that beautiful face the entire time, thinking somebody must have seen this asshole smiling while he fucks, and what a sight that must be.

Finally able to spread his legs, Loki offers himself now, freely and willingly. Thor’s been helping himself since the first moment. Now he’s invited instead. Loki smirks like the little shit he knows he can be. _Well then, impress me_.

Thor grabs his hips and pulls him down towards him. One of Loki’s ankles goes on his shoulder, the other leg goes around his waist. He lines up and shoves it in. It’s brutal. Loki arches his back sharply. One big hand comes to rest on his chest. Thor begins to fuck him hard and fast, the new angle brushing on Loki’s sweet spot constantly. Loki finds himself reduced to a blabbering mess.

“Fuck yes… fuck yes…”

At which point Thor rests all his weight on top of him, his elbows above Loki’s shoulders, hands on top of Loki’s head, trapping him, enfolding him. He’s all over, he’s everywhere. He presses his face into Loki’s neck, and Loki loves it way too fucking much for his own good, and he shouldn’t wrap his legs around him but he is, and he shouldn’t be kissing Thor’s neck but he does, and he shouldn’t allow himself to play with those gold locks but who the fuck cares anymore, and does this man ever fucking get tired, shit Loki’s so fucking close, and Thor must be too, he makes sounds so hot and gruff it’s fucking indecent, and oh god, to be fucked like this, (Loki’s mind wanders, flooded with happy hormones), to be fucked like this, it feels like, like, it feels like… love…

Loki goes rigid, keeps very still, for Thor to keep doing exactly what he’s doing the way he’s doing it for another fucking second, and…

“Fuck,” whimpers Loki, shaking, on the edge, “fuck...”

He jolts as if shocked as he comes on just Thor’s cock, sobbing in ecstasy.

And he gets fucked all the way through it, and he gets fucked for another good minute of his afterglow, and he’s melting, and he’s hugging Thor, arms and legs, as tight as he can, tripping. Then Thor’s hips begin to stutter, his grip on Loki’s hair gets tighter, his grunts more urgent, then a cry. Loki’s heartbeat suspended for a moment as Thor goes all tense and stiff above him, squashing the breath out of him. Their arms are around each other and their legs are tangled, and animals don’t fuck like this, or machines, and Loki, darling, _no.._.

Thor pulls out. Loki lets go of him and stays still and keeps his eyes closed. He’s pretty sure he’s never felt this high without some illegal input.

He half-opens his eyes when he hears the toilet flush, and witnesses the full glory that is Thor naked advancing towards the bed again, primal, unselfconscious. Loki tries not to ogle, but damn. It’s also kind of striking, how naked Thor looks without ink. Not a trace. Loki hadn’t seen a virgin canvas like that in his bed since, what, high school? It’s so freaking weird.

“Did you do this yourself?” Thor says, pointing at the tattoo up Loki’s side, all the way from ass to shoulder. How funny, they had both been thinking about the same thing, ink.

“How the fuck would I do it myself?” spits Loki, and rolls on his front. He shuts his eyes.

“But you drew it.”

“Yeah.”

“How long did it take?”

“Weeks.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

“Did you like it? I hear people get off on it.”

“It’s the endorphins.”

“So it feels good, then?”

“In a way.”

“Those drawings on the wall. Are they yours?”

“Huh? Yeah. Why?” says Loki, defiant.

“They’re cool.”

Loki says nothing. He’s calmly processing the unexpected compliment. Then he hears a rustle and something slick and hot touches his side, from hip to ribs, one long strip. Has Thor just licked him? Loki does _not_ keep his cool. He shivers visibly, goosebumps all over his back. Thor smirks, fully satisfied with that effect. He gets up, picks up his leather pants from the floor.

“What does your girlfriend think about your after-dark activities?” asks Loki, snippy. “Or does she not know?”

“Girlfriend?” repeats Thor, yanking up his pants, tucks himself in.

“The brunette that’s always on your lap, the one you grope in front of your mates day in day out.”

“Oh, Sif,” says Thor. “Not my girlfriend.”

And Loki exhales. Well, it’s something. He had not realized he’d been so concerned about that. Her.

“So what’s the deal with you two, then?”

Thor gives him a sideways look and the hint of a knowing smirk as he zips up. Loki expects to be told to mind his own fucking business.

“She’s not into romantic entanglements much,” is what he says instead.

“The fuck does that mean.”

“She identifies as pan aro. You know what that is?”

Loki does. He would never have imagined Thor would have even heard of it, however. Or that he would take it seriously, for that matter.

“We’re good together, but we’re not together-together,” says Thor. “Definitely not exclusive. Were you worried?”

“None of my fucking business, really.”

“You?”

“Me?”

“What is your deal.”

“Gay and proud. And you? Please don’t say bi-curious or I’ll throw up.”

Thor laughs.

“What I am is not introspective,” says Thor, sitting down on the bed to lace up his boots. “I just know what I like.”

“And I just need to know where you learned to suck cock like that,” says Loki. “Somehow I can’t imagine you at a rainbow bar.”

Thor laughs darkly, smug. (Sexy. How does he manage to make it so sexy?)

“I mean, really,” insists Loki. “You’ve had extensive practice, haven’t you?”

“A few bro-jobs, yeah.”

“Is that even a thing.”

“Is that a thing?” repeats Thor, with a laugh. “Don’t you ever just want to get off, without having to romance and seduce and fucking try so hard? I guess you don’t know what I’m talking about, right? You don’t have to get girls into bed. It can be hard work. Sometimes it’s just not worth the bother.”

“Just when my opinion of you was starting to improve.”

“Was it, really.”

Loki arches a sarcastic eyebrow for an answer.

“It’s, like, my no-gays rule,” continues Thor. “I mainly just do straights, because I want to keep it uncomplicated, and when there’s feelings involved it always gets messy, and I really don’t want the hassle. But sometimes I really, really want to fuck an ass. But not that many girls are into it, and finding the straight who likes to take it is like, the holy fucking grail, and then you have to be so gentle and all. So I figured I’d try gay guys. There’s always the feelings thing. But just don’t get clingy and we’ll be fine.”

Loki’s face has gone from white to green as Thor was talking. For an entire minute, he’s fucking speechless.

“Why did I let you get within fifty fucking miles of me again?” he hisses. To his horror, his eyes are filling up with tears. Damn, not in front of _him_. Thor is frowning in confusion as if Loki’s begun to sprout a second head.

“Get out of my fucking house,” seethes Loki.

Thor hesitates for a second, still baffled apparently by the big fat tears rolling down Loki’s cheeks.

Loki screams, “ _Out!_ ”

Thor grabs his jacket, his helmet. With one last dark frown at the boy crying on the bed, he leaves.

And Loki’s shit week is thus complete.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, chapter beta'd and writer's hand lovingly held by wonderful Thorctopus.
> 
> I'll totally be Lydia to your Beetlejuice.


	3. C for Chatting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering what's on Thor's mind, or what was Loki's story...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, chatting is not a weird kink or sexual practice.
> 
> Although it's certainly doing all sorts of unexpected things for Thor.

 

Thor’s week happens in a suit, in the artificial, rarefied, air-conditioned, product-freshened atmosphere of a glass skyscraper downtown (one of the few), with a phone stuck to his ear. He’s dedicated— he can’t be faulted for that. His dad accuses him of not caring enough about his accounts. What the fuck do you want from me, dad? Thor gets the job done, doesn’t he? So he refuses to be there to hold the fuckers’ hands through the bad times, so what? Hold your own fucking hand, dude, nobody asked you to invest your children’s inheritance. I can’t hold the salts for you every time your fucking stock loses a percent.

It’s not what Thor wanted to do with his life, by miles. But then again, what _does_ he want to do? He has no idea. Never really has. 

Ok, that’s a lie. He has _one_ idea, one thing that consistently makes him happy, something he feels he could do for the rest of his life, and that’s fucking around on his Kawasaki GPZ all day. But like his dad is so fond of saying, _that’s not a career, son_.

Yeah, that’s true. The GPZ is a spoilt brat that demands constant care and attention. Thor needs money to keep her, so from Monday to Friday that’s what he does— money. His dad had told him since forever that Thor would always have a job in his firm. And since Thor didn’t have any better ideas, and didn’t have any strong vocational pulls in any other direction, he pushed his way through school and got his job in daddy’s firm. He wasn’t doing too bad, considering he didn’t give a fuck. He wasn’t interested in inheriting the fucking firm either, or running it, but he kept steadily climbing in the hierarchy, due to being who he was, sure, but also due to being a killer man-eating shark, that too. (Heh, there was a pun there, but his dad didn’t know about that.)

And there you go, from 9 to 5 (more like 7) every day, Thor makes money. Then a couple of hours at the gym, then home, and another day ticked off, one closer to the weekend. And then on Saturday (or Friday night, sometimes), he sheds the suit, slips inside his leathers, gets the GPZ from under her custom-made tarpaulin cover and out of her private underground parking bay, and _lives_.

Sif, who is a stuntwoman for the movies, and loves it, doesn’t understand how _that_ is living. Volstagg, who’s a mechanic with his own workshop and services all their bikes and has four children and married Hilde, his highschool sweetheart, doesn’t understand how what Thor does is living. Fandral, who is a photographer (and says he does it for the models when what he actually really really wants is to work for National Geographic), doesn’t understand how what he does is living. (Hogun, who’s a personal trainer, probably doesn’t understand either, but he doesn’t let on. He’s excellent company, our dear Hogun.) 

So what. Thor is a realist. He’s a grownup. He does what he has to do. He may have fantasized of getting in with Hell’s Angels (he’d have to trade his GPZ for a Harley then, right?), and touring the country like a modern-day highway man, living above and beyond the law, doing exactly what he fucking wanted. He had even flirted with it one summer. In more than one sense (though Fandral and he had been giving each other a hand since they were teenagers, he was with the Angels the first time he’d kissed a guy; not a lot of people imagined that about those burly, gruff, ultramacho bikers; it was also the first time he’d swallowed another guy’s come. Long story. Some other time). But that was all it was, a flirtation. Even if his dad had _not_ gone into a fit when he found out, and his mom hadn’t looked so horrified and so heartbroken, the fact was, Thor had grown up a child of privilege, always with a (warm, plushy, comfy, air-conditioned) shelter over his head, surrounded by modern luxuries, with cable tv and hot water and a real bed, and not only could he read, but he was actually quite fond of it, and he’d gone to college, and he was just… Not a very good fit, when it came to it. A _goldbar-shitting babyfaced college boy_ , is what they called him. Yeah, Thor never really felt at home there. Maybe someday he’d try again, when he was fed up enough, when his mom wasn’t there anymore to…

Anyway.

 

“You seem distracted, son,” says his dad on Wednesday by the water cooler, after the meeting. 

“Do I?” 

Thor tries to get away from it by blabbering account names and mentioning that new regulation everybody’s so confused about. His dad gives him the beady eye. But what does he want from him. His dad was always unassailable, like the fucking Great Wall of China. If he has actual feelings, Thor has never seen them. So does he seriously expect Thor to come to him now with his _girl problems_?

 _Boy_ problems.

Distracted? Hell, yeah. Loki. That’s what keeps seeping into Thor’s thoughts these days. 

Since he first saw him, actually. 

Thor was used to checking men out. At the start, in those days of innocence and unawareness (denial, Thor, the word you’re looking for is denial), he thought it was about parsing the competition. A few sucked dicks later, he admitted that he was just _checking men out_ , pure and simple. And that was fine, no problem. So he wasn’t straight, big deal. Might have been more of a conundrum in high school, when things were more black and white, but in the real world, who cares? Not him. Who the fuck was straight anymore, in this day and age. 

He just… he never thought he’d get so hung up on a guy. 

…Or so hung up, period. Never crossed his mind. He thought he just didn’t have it in him anymore, that he had outgrown it; burnt it all down when he was still tender and young. He didn’t know what to do about _this_.

So yeah, he’d liked Loki on first sight. No surprises there; he was a hot little thing. And nervous. God, he’d been so nervous that first night, like a little sparrow, trying to do well. His hands were shaky as he put down their drinks. Thor had thought it was fucking adorable. And he wasn’t a man to use this word unironically. _What do we have here,_ Thor had thought, _who the hell are you, and where did you come from, you sexy little thing?_ And that voice. “ _Shit, sorry,_ ” he had said, warm, with a rasp, a voice that to Thor was the sensory equivalent of getting his crotch groped slowly and lovingly. He had kept an eye on the hot new waiter ever since, his ear tuned to his voice. He could not help it.

He immediately sensed Loki wanted him, but he hadn’t done anything about it at first, and he still wasn’t sure if it was a delayed gratification thing, or if he’d been trying to figure him out, or what. Looking back on it, he might have felt a bit wary. It was that _adorable_ shit, it was raising a flag.

When Thor realized he was looking forward to the weekend for Loki as much as for his bike, that’s what convinced him that he needed to get it out of the way, now. He thought fucking Loki would take care of it. It usually did. Thor’s interest in people rarely lasted beyond the orgasm. So they fucked in Loki’s car, and it was filthy and scorching hot and beautiful, and Thor fully expected to have scratched that itch. But then Loki walked in, looking like the most beautiful mess, knees wobbly, huge eyes, a newborn foal, and right there and then, Thor wanted him _again_ , and wanted him _enough_ , and he just knew it was totally going to happen some more. 

So Thor spent the entire fucking week jerking off, thinking of Loki. And when Saturday came, oh god. Skittish, jumpy Loki had been adorable. Flirty, swaggering, cock-teasing Loki, putting on a private show just for him, that was the hottest fucking thing. He had wanted to drop to his knees right there by Loki’s car.

The wait had been worth it. Thor loved sucking cock, and he knew Loki would be fantastic and taste amazing and fall apart like a house of cards, and indeed he did. And he had the tightest ass and loved being fucked and oh, _“go slow,”_ and that little whimper, and he liked it way past hard and right into rough, and he was such a desperate slut for it, and in short Loki was a fucking _dream_ in the sack, a really, really wet one.

Why had Loki started crying? I mean, Thor had been blunt, yeah, but having seen a little of that feisty, spunky little thing in action, Thor would have expected screaming, maybe objects flying, but _that_ look on Loki’s face? Hm, there was something wrong there. Hurt feelings. Not pride-feelings, the other type. And at that moment Thor had thought, okay that’s it, I’m off. None of that shit. Never again. He just did not do _feelings_. He distinctly sucked at emotional support, and he hated the thought of being needed; he liked his time to be his own, and didn’t see any upsides in chaining himself to another person just for sex. He had dated many moons ago, but never got much from it except headaches. The moment he realized not dating was an option, he just stopped. He didn’t pretend he was anything but what he was, however. They could take him or leave him. They usually took him. And then, if people wanted to believe there was more to him, that was their problem, not his.

He had thought Loki had seen enough of him _not_ to have that problem. 

Maybe Loki cries when he’s angry. Maybe Loki thought that an encore meant something when it did not. Maybe Loki is a delicate little flower. 

The question is not really why Loki was crying, but why can’t Thor stop thinking about it.

 

__________

 

Thor doesn’t know what the fuck he’s after when he follows Loki out on his break the next Saturday. Loki’s been ignoring him, and he’s very fucking good at it. Thor is never ruffled by things like that, _ever_ , confident enough in his own charisma and sexual prowess to shrug it off and move on, but tonight he just. He can’t let it go. And it’s burning him. _We had some filthy fucking colossal glorious sex, you and I, and you were totally into it, don’t just fucking act like it was nothing_. So even though Thor never fucking chases anyone, he chases Loki out on his break.

 

Loki levels him with a highly accomplished spiteful glare when he sees him. Thor just keeps sauntering towards him. 

“Literally every single person in that bar has an asshole,” says Loki, blowing smoke as he speaks. “Leave mine alone.”

It’s not attitude. Thor wishes it was. And it’s not pride, and it’s not about playing hard to get. It’s sharp, and hard, and cutting, and final. Thor freezes on the spot.

 _Loki, that’s not what… I mean, when I said that_ … — Thor thinks it, he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s actually out of fucking words.

So ok, no words then. He takes another step closer.

“Don’t,” says Loki. “You're wasting your time. And mine.”

And he throws away his smoke and brushes past him without even looking.

Well.

Thor is not in the business of chasing after rebuffs. The world is full of people who want him. Yeah, he’s totally _not_ wasting his time here anymore. He’s already had Loki. Move on.

He sits with his mates, they’re playing poker, talking the usual nothings. Thor can’t focus to save his life.

Loki is such a pretty crier.

 

There is that really hot blond girl again. Amy something. Is she interested? …Yeah, course she is. Okay then, here we go…

Pool. It’s his quick-and-easy go to. It’s fun, doesn’t require much talking, and he loves to see them dangle…

He keeps checking, but Loki is never looking. Neither is he making a big point of _not_ looking either. He just seems distracted, vacant, going through the motions. Anger suits him more. Still so pretty, though.

When he walks out with Amy, Thor takes one last look around. Loki is not even there. Hm.

 

____________

 

Amy was okay. Sucked like a vacuum cleaner, rode like she was at a rodeo. 8 for effort, 6 for performance. It was a bit over the top. Thor stopped enjoying those porn theatricals when he was 18. 

She stayed over, and in the morning Thor made coffee. She giggled, flirted, she left her phone number. Thor tossed it without even checking it. It’s not like he had not made it clear last night he wasn’t looking for anything. What you see is what you get. It was enough that he let her stay over. Usually Thor prefers that they don’t. He’s not a cuddler, and he likes to sleep by himself. But it was late and she was a bit drunk and… Thor had considered calling her a taxi but in the end they just. Yeah. Oh well, making mom proud, being a gentleman and all.

More coffee, toast, eggs, sports on the TV, staring blankly. Some Sundays are just ugh. He’ll take the GPZ out again later, go for a long ride alone. He goes through his working week thinking this is what he has to put up with to keep her, and spends as much of the weekend as he can riding her to make sure he gets his money’s worth. Well, it’s not like that. His GPZ and him, it’s not a monetary transaction. Thor worships her, loves what she makes him feel. Sometimes, riding with Sif, he thinks what it would be to share her with someone who...somebody. Someone special. He doubts there is anyone _that_ special. He wishes at times that Sif was interested in something more than friendship. She and Thor, they’re so compatible. Once, he mentioned it to her and she just laughed. _You doofus,_ she said, _what you’re talking about, what you wish for, is not about being compatible at all. W_ hatever that means. 

 _Alone doesn’t mean lonely_ , she also says sometimes, talking about herself. On his bike for long hours, Thor repeats those words as a mantra. He doesn’t think he can tell the difference. 

Does Loki have a boyfriend who’s hung like a horse? Is that what he had said? It was in the _past_ tense, right? Is he dead, or something? Is Loki mourning? Had Thor said something triggering that night? 

The skin of Loki’s side, where his tattoo was, leaves and flowers, animals concealed in other shapes, suddenly emerging. The colors. Thor had wondered if it would taste different, the tattooed portion of Loki’s skin. It didn’t. Oh, Loki’s reaction, that adorable squirm. Made Thor want to tickle him. Why hadn’t he? He should. Next time.

Will there be a next time?

What if there isn’t? 

Shit.

Loki has other tattoos, and Thor had not paid enough attention when they were fucking to remember them now. He thinks there’s something on Loki’s ankle, definitely one on the back of his neck when you push away the hair (hm, Thor gets a flash, his fingers weaving into that jet black hair, so soft, as he fucked him) and… his arm? Damn, it is now fucking _essential_ that Thor gets to fuck Loki again. He needs to. He wants to get a proper look at all those tattoos.

Should Thor get a tattoo? Most of his friends have something. Thor thought it was kind of. Cheap, or vulgar, or… I mean, if everybody’s got one… Thor doesn’t follow the herd, ever, and if the herd happens to go his way, Thor goes the other. He hadn’t had big opinions on the subject until now.

Loki does tattoos. He designed that big one on his own side himself. It’s fucking stunning. It’s not cheap or vulgar, and it’s not something one sees everyday.

Here’s a thought.

Loki gets lost in himself when Thor fucks him. Moaning, so filthy. But not like Amy, overdoing it, putting on a show for the camera, but because he can’t _not_ moan. In the bar, his back is always ramrod straight, his shoulders proud, his posture poised and arrogant, but under Thor, god, under Thor… And oh, when he laid on his back and spread his legs for him, tempting him, _come and get it_. Arching his back when Thor was fucking in, his nails in the meat of Thor’s back, in his scalp. He takes it like that’s what he’s made for. For taking Thor. … _God_.

Dude, _what_? What the _fuck_?

Later, on his GPZ, Thor wonders how Loki sounds when he laughs. He wonders what he’s doing right now.

 

__________________

 

Next Saturday, something happens.

Thor sees it in Loki’s eyes first, which have until then been expertly ignoring him, and looking quite bored. Suddenly they go wide. Thor turns to check what Loki’s just seen. A guy has just walked in, size of a wardrobe, all muscle, long dark hair, a tight, low-cut tank showing off his arms like sacks of cantaloupes, the neck of a bull, skin thickly inked, and a handsome face that breaks into a really fucking dazzling smile when he spots Loki.

The horse-hung boyfriend in the past tense, alive and kicking, smiling like he eats shit for a living. If Thor was a dog, the hair on his back would be up and he would be showing teeth.

The wardrobe approaches the bar, stands in front of Loki. With the music and all, Thor could never hear a thing even if he was standing right beside them, but he doesn’t fucking need to. Loki’s body language is a fucking poem. He’s trembling like a leaf, a twink omega in the presence of his Alpha. He gives submission and adoration off in waves. The wardrobe leans in, smiles, flirts. You can tell Loki’s trying to fight it, even as he gets pulled into the wardrobe’s orbit by the power of fucking pheromones. Thor wants to fucking _slaughter_. He’s finally seeing what Loki looks like when he cares, and it’s fucking gutting.

“Thor, dude, your go,” says Fandral.

Thor huffs deeply. He leans over the pool table to make his play. Sends the ball spinning and nearly rips the felt. He’s a fucking embarrassment tonight. He’s shown better aim, precision, and triangulation skills after five vodka shots.

When he stands back up after his pitiful play, he checks, and Loki isn’t there. Neither is the wardrobe. 

What time is it? Shit, Loki’s break time. Fuck. Thor rushes outside. No plan. He’s just not thinking. 

And there they are, Mr. Wardrobe crowding Loki against his car, with a thigh between Loki’s legs, and they’re fucking holding hands. Their voices are clear and sharp in the middle of the night, echoing against the wall of the building in front. They’re so caught up in each other, they haven’t even noticed Thor is there.

“Can we go to yours tonight.” That’s the wardrobe’s voice.

“No.” That was Loki.

“Come on…”

“Svad, we can’t… We talked about this.”

“But what happened the other day…” The wardrobe dips his head. He’s kissing Loki’s face as he rumbles.

“Never happening again,” Loki’s voice is small and breathy.

“You still love me, don’t you? Say you still love me.” A low, hot rumble. Now he’s kissing Loki’s neck.

“I fucking hate you.” That was barely a mutter, but Loki’s head is tilted for the wardrobe’s kisses.

“Come on, baby, you know what I feel about you.”

“You… are a selfish bastard.” That was a fucking _whimper_.

“Loki, baby…”

The wardrobe cups Loki’s chin to kiss his mouth. And Loki tries to move his face away, hands on the assholes bulging chest, trying weakly to shove him off, and he mumbles.

“Svad, please, don't… we can’t…”

Ok, _enough_. Thor’s there in three bounds.

“Is this gentleman bothering you?”

Wardrobe turns his face to him. He can’t believe the interruption. Loki, meanwhile, has seen Thor and gone white.

“Mind your fucking business, pal,” says Wardrobe.

“He said _don’t_ , are you fucking deaf?” says Thor.

Wardrobe raises an unbelieving eyebrow, faces Thor, plants his feet wide, squares his considerable shoulders.

“Listen, dude…”

“Loki, you okay?” cuts Thor.

They both turn to Loki, who’s looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights, his eyes from one to the other in terror. 

“You know this guy?” says Wardrobe, suspicious. And he turns to Thor with a very, very ugly glare.

A stand-off. Wardrobe is about Thor’s height, maybe an inch taller, about as big, and certainly about as heavy.

“Loki, get inside,” says Wardrobe, without even looking, eyes fixed on Thor.

“Don’t you fucking tell him what to do,” groans Thor, buzzing with it, already tasting blood, and hungry for it.

Wardrobe looks like murder, and deals Thor a sudden shove. Thor stumbles back. He returns it, Wardrobe is smashed against the car. 

“Son of a…” roars Wardrobe, and charges, going for Thor’s neck. 

 _Yes_. Thor has the berserk on. He’s grinning as he goes for it. They clash.

“Stop it!” cries Loki. 

Thor stops the blow that was following, aimed at his nose. He throws his fist to the stomach, Wardrobe stops it. They’re locked, twisting and shoving, both trying to attack and get free at the same time, while not letting go of the other. They’re very evenly matched. Thor is using all he’s got, no cause for restraint, and he’s loving it. Twice he manages to get free and throw a punch. Shame he can’t get a clean hit. He wants it to hurt. Hears Loki shout. Then Wardrobe rears back. He’s going for the headbutt. Thor charges before he can hit, head clashes against Wardrobe’s chest. He’s coughing, next he’s kicking. Knees Thor on the thigh (it was meant for his crotch).

“Break it up! Break it up!” somebody’s screaming.

Then somebody’s pulling at Thor’s arms, somebody is pulling at Wardrobe’s arms. Both Thor and Wardrobe are all but foaming at the mouth, throwing kicks, twisting to get free, thirsty for blood.

“I’m calling the cops!” somebody else shouts. 

“Thor, fucking stop it!” That’s Sif, one arm around Thor’s neck, choking him. Volstagg is holding his arms behind his back. “Stop it now!”

Huffing, still shaking with adrenaline, Thor’s mind begins to clear. He can’t break his friends’ hold on him. He knows from experience he's not getting rid of Sif’s arm before he passes out either. He’s calming down.

So is Wardrobe. He’s breathing hard, still full of rage and violence, but he’s stopped throwing kicks and fighting to get free.

One long, crackling moment of frozen silence.

“Gentlemen, please.” That would be Jed the landlord.

“I’m cool,” grunts Wardrobe, indicating with short shoves that his restrainers can trust him with freedom. Carefully, Hogun and Fandral release him, and indeed, Wardrobe doesn’t attack again. His eyes are still trying to obliterate Thor with a beam of pure distilled hatred, however. Then he turns to Loki, and so does Thor. He’s a few steps away, holding himself, terrified. He looks guilty as sin, for some reason. He looks at Wardrobe imploring him. Thor sees it and wants to kill again.

“Svad…” begs Loki.

Wardrobe Svad squints viciously at Loki, full of spite. He fixes his clothes with sharp tugs, and stomps away, huffing and puffing. Loki’s eyes follow him, huge and pathetic. Thor’s gut is twisting. Wardrobe gets into his car and drives off. 

The crowd is dispersing. The landlord is grumbling, “Wherever there’s trouble, there’s Loki…”

“So sack me then!” screams Loki, clearly all revved up still.

Seems to do the trick, the landlord goes meek now.

“Ok, ok. Get back inside, we have customers.”

Loki walks back into the bar. Never even looks at Thor.

“What the fuck was that about?” asks Sif. 

“A misunderstanding,” grumbles Thor.

 

________________

 

The gang vacates the premises at this point, and soon after, they disperse, their Saturday cut short. Thor does a few spins on his bike around town, one eye on his watch. He goes back to the bar for closing time and pulls into the parking lot. 

He waits patiently, watches the other three employees get into their cars and leave. Loki’s taking his time, as usual. Being the most recent employee, maybe he has sweeping up duties or something.

Finally, there he is. He walks with a shuffle. Is he drunk? 

He spots Thor. He cackles. Sounds hollow and off. Definitely drunk. He strolls over, looks Thor up and down.

“You sure deserve points for perseverance,” he says. 

He looks away, his eyes droopy. Definitely sad. 

“Well, why the fuck not,” he says after a minute. He grabs the collar of Thor’s jacket, pulls him close, and kisses him. Feels fucking great, he’s a ridiculously good kisser. Oh boy. Thor holds him tight and tongue-fucks his mouth like he’s digging for gold. He grabs his ass and lifts him, spins them around, rests Loki’s ass on the seat of the bike. Loki parts his knees when Thor pushes, hooks his ankles behind Thor’s legs.

“Are you going to bend me over the bike?” giggles Loki. Yeah, so drunk.

“Who was that guy?” asks Thor between kisses.

“Are you fucking shitting me right now,” groans Loki. 

Then his hands are on Thor’s flies. Thor grabs his wrists.

“Let’s go to your place.”

“Or we could just do it in my car.”

“Your place,” insists Thor. He's been anticipating this all week. He wants to do it well. He wants Loki naked.

Loki huffs, pissed off. He shakes his head. 

“I’m drunk. I’m not driving.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

Loki looks him head to toe, then the GPZ. 

“Come on,” insists Thor. He’s panting a little, feeling almost feverish.

Loki stares at him for a long time. Thor wants to know what he’s thinking.

“Okay, whatever,” says Loki, and throws one leg over the bike. 

“Shit,” grunts Thor, as turned on as he’s ever been. Loki looks so eminently fuckable, those long thighs, the messed up hair and mouth. It looks fucking perfect, all of it, as sleek and deadly as the bike. Gives him shivers.

He climbs in front of him. 

“Hold on.”

Loki holds on, alright. He wraps his arms tight around Thor’s waist, presses his body against Thor's back, and traps Thor between his legs, and fuck. Like, _fuck_. At one point, with the engine thrumming between his thighs, Thor feels those long fingers tracing the inner seams of his pants, nails raking up and down to the crotch. Thor’s going to fucking slip and crash and die, he’s so hard.

He manages to remember the way to Loki’s place, some fucking how. 

 

They’ve been making out all the way up the stairs, stopping at every landing. It’s just, every time Thor gets a glimpse of that ass, he needs to get a grope, and then Loki does this _hmmm_ thing and god, Thor just _needs_ to grab him and shove him against the wall and fuck his mouth with his tongue and chew up those lips; he wants to fucking eat him whole. They’re in a right fucking state when they get to Loki’s door. Thor has to work the key because Loki has both hands in Thor’s pants.

Loki shuts the door, his hair a glorious mess, his mouth, god, and goes to his knees. Jesus. Thor knew that would be a sight to fucking behold. He had no fucking idea.

“Give me that thick, fat cock,” Loki says.

Thor doesn’t give him anything - Loki helps himself. Thor has to lean on the door and hold on, with Loki gone from 0 to 60 in a fucking second, no build up. He's sucking Thor like he’s fucking milking him. 

He stops then, to give him a bratty face.

“Do I have to do all the work?” he says. 

That mouth, prettiest thing Thor's ever seen, all pink and puffy. Thor pets him gently, his hair, his face. Loki tilts his head, shakes Thor off. Thor then grabs his dick, rubs it on Loki's lips. After a moment, Loki opens up for him, the haze in his eyes fucking sinful. Thor rubs the underside of the head on Loki's tongue. Loki sticks it out. _Shit_.

"Want me to rough you up?" says Thor, hoarse.

Loki smirks and kisses the tip. Then he starts to lick like a kitten lapping milk from a bowl, his eyes going all droopy. _Ahh_. Thor's knees are liquefying.

Then a flash of teeth, making Thor snap right out of it. From down below, Loki's eyes like laser beams on Thor's, defiant.

Well, then.

Thor grabs Loki's hair, his jaw, and shoves it in. With one hand around the back of Loki's head, keeping him there, he begins to move his hips. Loki holds on to Thor's legs and takes it. When Thor goes a bit harder, Loki starts to moan like a fucking porn star, as he touches himself through his jeans. Thor is going to have a fucking stroke. It’s all he had imagined and more. His usually considerable stamina is failing him. He’s going to… shit, he’s going to come.

He tries to get Loki off him. It takes two hands and more biceps that Thor had intended using.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” he pants. He’s having to physically hold Loki away from his dick by the hair. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

“Don’t you want to come on my face?” says Loki, mouth glistening with spit.

There’s something wrong about Loki right now. It’s his eyes. Like, he was all lust and light one second ago, and now his eyes are dead, and Thor just… He scoops him up. He stares at him. Loki is only showing him a little attitude. Where's the fire gone.

Thor kisses him. He kisses Loki with all he’s got, arms tight around him, sucking his lip, stroking tongues, the works. Loki’s eyes are shut when Thor pulls away. When he opens them, he’s frowning, interrogating, wary. But Thor’s got his attention now, doesn’t he? Fuck yeah. He’s going to fuck him till neither can fucking think, until all Loki can say is _Thor_.

Takes him to bed, lays on top of him. Humps him dry with deep, slow moves, grunting. Loki’s legs around Thor’s waist, hands on Thor’s ass. He’s trying to shove Thor’s pants down. He won’t make it without assistance. Thor kneels up, Loki sits up. They’re both tugging pushing yanking pulling squirming twisting to get naked. Shit, something ripped. Doesn’t know if it’s Loki’s or his. Doesn’t care. The shoes are always a bit of a mood killer, having to stop everything with their pants around their ankles like a pair of idiots, but Thor looks at Loki’s face while he’s undoing his fucking laces, and the buzzing anticipation there, _fuck_. For once, he almost, _almost_ wants to slow down to make it last.

They’re stark naked now, and tangled in each other, and rolling. Thor is kissing everything he sees, getting firm handfuls of flesh. That butt when it clenches under his hands is hard enough to crack nuts, fuck. When it's not clenching, it yields ever so slightly, like a perfect fucking sun-warmed peach. A nectarine, actually, so fucking smooth... God, Loki offering his neck for Thor's mouth, shivering when Thor sucks there. Loki's hands everywhere, worshipping Thor's muscles. Fuck yeah, touch me. Thor guides Loki's hands. Touch _here_. _Feel_ _this_. As he rubs his hard-on on Loki's crack, Thor thinks he could probably slip it in just like that, his cock is leaking so much.

Another roll, and Loki’s on top now, straddling him. Fuck _yes_. Shit, look at him, Thor zones the fuck out just watching. The tattoo. Thor strokes it, rakes his fingers down over it. Loki's rolling his hips where it's squashing Thor, massaging. His eyes are shut.

Loki reaches above him for stuff in his drawer, and now Thor can smell him too, a waft of sweat, man deodorant. It’s a whole different world, smell-wise, fucking men. Used to put Thor off at first, but now…

“The fuck did you just...?” gasps Loki.

Thor smirks, pleased with himself. Yeah, he supposes he just licked Loki’s armpit, hair and all. His tongue is tingling.

And Loki spins, and is now showing Thor his back. He gets on his hands and knees, reaches behind himself.

“Fuck…” grunts Thor. 

Loki’s fingers up his own ass, slicking himself. Thor’s cock does a fucking jump. The things the lean muscles on Loki's back are doing, as he arches up to reach. Smooth as a boy’s. And the tattoo ripples and bends and does weird things, whoa.

Loki looks over his shoulder for a moment, and for that moment, for some reason, it takes Thor's breath away. 

“Come on, fuck," grunts Thor, exasperated, grabbing Loki's hips, pulling him down. "I fucking need you."

Loki positions himself. He holds Thor’s dick up, and sinks on him, _hard_. Thor’s vision goes white as he pinches his lids together, frowning. And Loki keeps going, making effort noises, little shudders. Is he hurting himself?

Loki's ass on Thor's hips now. Loki's breathing funny. All Thor can see is that gorgeous back covered in ink tracings, a mess of black hair, and the tension in those lean muscles.

"Hey," he says, stroking down his back.

Loki shakes him off again, and starts rolling his hips, little moves. Thor grunts, holds Loki's hips, but doesn't lead for now. Let that beautiful pink ring of muscle get used to him. Thor lifts his head to see it, where Loki's body is stretched to take in his.

Slowly, Loki's breaths loosen up, get deeper. His moves get a bit wider, his waist snaking. Thor shuts his eyes in bliss.

And suddenly, Loki gets going, fast and dirty. Short moves, conserving energy, on a gear his thighs and knees can hold for some time. High friction, medium depth. Thor fucking loves how his breathing pace is out of tune with his movements. You’re like fucking jazz, baby.

"That's it, baby," mumbles Thor, panting. "Yeah, that's good..."

Loki arches his back, and a whole fucking new landscape of bone and muscle appears. He's falling down harder now, a little _hmph_ when he clashes against Thor's hips. Thor sinks his nails in. Fuck yeah, work me, work me… Take it, take it all...

"Yeah, work it..." is what he says out loud. "Your ass feels so good..."

After a considerable while, Loki’s pace starts stuttering, he’s slowing down. He’s tired. Thor takes over. Sits up, pushes him forward. He gets dislodged with the change of posture, but takes a moment before he gets back in. Loki’s flat on his front beneath him, panting hard, waiting for him. When Thor gets between his legs, Loki bites his lip and shuts his eyes and Thor just. That face makes Thor feel things. He puts his dick against Thor's flesh, and there's now a jaw clench too, and a frown. Oh boy. Thor presses in, Loki exhales. Thor sinks in slowly, slowly, goes deep. He's all in now, and still he pushes, pushes. Loki does the sweetest little gasp.

Thor lies on top of him, all his weight, crushing him, Loki's breath short and shallow. Thor begins to work his hips, slow and sweet, rolling, rolling. Loki’s sobbing softly.

“Yeah…” he sighs, “…yeah…”

Thor sucks at the crook of his neck, intent on branding him. He sucks and sucks and sucks, Loki whimpers. That pale skin will show it so beautifully. _It will tell that dark haired fucker who’s fucking you now_. 

And with that thought, Thor begins to snap his hips hard. Loki’s holding his breath, comes out as the cutest huffy noise with each strong shove. Loki’s clutching the sheets, Thor gets a fucking thrill seeing it. He props himself up on his elbows and gives it to him fast, gives it to him like he wants to literally screw him through the mattress. He stabs him like he’s punishing him. Loki’s tense all over, barely makes any sound, holding onto the sheets for dear life. Slap slap slap, flesh smacking.  _You’re gonna give_ _me moon eyes from now on, not him_.

Thor comes in fucking colors, moaning like a bitch, keeps moving just as fast and hard all through it, and he sounds destroyed, fucks sakes, even he can hear that. Destroyed. Destroyed…

An afterglow that’s like floating on the ocean in a space capsule after burning in the atmosphere on re-entry from a trip to Mars. Loki’s hair so soft on Thor’s face.

Their combined breathing coming down is the only sound in the whole world.

“Get off me,” grumbles Loki after a moment, shoving Thor with his elbow.

Thor rolls off of him, lays on his back, boneless. He stares at the ceiling, still breathing hard, heart still pounding.

Loki rolls over, sits up, rubs his face. He grabs something to clean himself. The fuck is it? Better not be Thor’s t-shirt. 

...And Thor is a bit slow today, but he gets there eventually. Oh. _Oh_. Loki came. Untouched. _Again_. Thor grins from ear to ear, smug as fuck.

Loki gets himself to the bathroom. His steps are unsure, shaky, his gestures slow. Basically, he's weak at the fucking _knees_ , that's how good that was for him. Thor just keeps on grinning with his eyes closed as his pulse goes back to normal, little by little.

 

Later, after Thor’s turn in the bathroom, he finds Loki lying on his side, facing the wall. Thor stares. He just stares. Loki's hip does a _thing_ lying like that, his spine, his long hair spread on the pillow in a way that… The skin of Loki’s back is to fucking die for, so smooth. And his ass, mother of fuck. It’s fair to say Thor has never seen a more beautiful boy in his entire life. 

Loki shakes his head, rakes his fingers through his long hair. (… _Aaaand_ make that a more beautiful _human_.)

“So, who was that, your ex?” asks Thor.

“I really don’t feel like talking to you,” says Loki without even turning. His voice oozes contempt.

Well.

“When you asked me questions last time, I answered, didn’t I?” insists Thor, who is nothing if not stubborn.

“And I’m so very fucking sorry I asked, and even sorrier that you answered,” spits Loki, still not bothering to look him in the face.

“Last time, was it him you were crying over?” says Thor, gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.

“Well, it wasn’t over you, that’s for sure.” 

“So who the fuck was that guy?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Loki grumbles, and throws him a glower over his shoulder. “Why are you still here? You have what you came for, don’t you? You can fuck off now.”

He rolls over and gets up. He struts away, naked and gorgeous, with that tattoo undulating with his strides. Gets himself a beer from the fridge. Thor ogles, his eyes traveling from slim, elegant ankles to a beautifully long throat, and all the pale, slender glory in between. Then Loki gets a cigarette, and walks to the window to smoke it, bottle of beer in his hand. The streetlights outside paint his lean muscles and bones in glowing brushstrokes. 

Then, taking Thor entirely by surprise, and maybe even himself, he says,

“He’s my boss. At the tattoo shop.”

We’re getting somewhere, thinks Thor.

“And your ex-something,” he says.

Loki leers, he _sees_ him.

“Ex-something is a good way to put it," he says, mostly to himself.

“So what’s the story there?” prods Thor.

“Want to know the sad story of my life?” scoffs Loki. 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Thor doesn’t have a clever answer for that. Or an answer, period.

“Because I do,” he says. He’s always been a spoilt brat, and it’s worked for him so far. No point in changing now.

Loki turns to the window again, blows perfect little smoke rings. That Thor can tear his eyes off for a second from the perfect globes of that ass is a testimony of how very pretty those smoke rings are.

“Okay, fine, why not,” sighs Loki. “So, once upon a time, little boy blue comes to town fresh out of art school, head full of dreams. Never been too lucky, but it will be different now, the world is his oyster at last. Sends in some CVs. Gets an interview at this cool place he really liked and has heard great things about. Meets the guy. Gorgeous, hot as fuck. Instant connection. Like, _bam_. Like a house on fire. Little boy blue gets the job, can barely fucking believe it, but on top of that, the boss seems to have taken him under his wing; he drives him around on errands and holds his hand through all the administrative and adulting shit; he helps the boy find a cheap car and a good deal; he helps him find a place and all, in the coolest hipster quarter in town, and it belongs to the boss’s friend too, so they give him a friend’s price. Unbelievable. Little boy blue is on a fucking roll. And he gets not only a monthly paycheck and cool work, but also training, and encouragement, and praise, and he can feel he’s getting better by the day, and it’s basically the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, one after the other. And that’s when he _still_ thinks his crush is unrequited. But guess what, it _isn’t_ unrequited, all praise the almighty. So he." Loki chokes. He drinks some beer. "He begins a love affair with the gorgeous boss, and it’s sexy, sweet, fun, wonderful. Little boy blue is over the moon. He’s already thinking of baby names." Loki sighs miserably. "But you know what they say, if it sounds too good to be true…” He pulls a broken smile. “Then, one fateful day, a Saturday, the bar is closed for some reason, and little boy blue turns up at the tattoo shop. He just wants to hang out, maybe help with the work, maybe sneak into the back with the boss for a quickie. Boss is not as happy to see him as boy thought he’d be, and he keeps throwing hints that maybe little boy blue should just go do something special with his free time for once. He clearly wants him to leave, but the boy will only realize that later, in hindsight, in a pause from bawling his soul out. Anyway, boy doesn’t catch the hint and he doesn’t leave, and eventually boss’s wife walks in on her way to the kiddies park, with the boss’s three lovely children and two dogs.”

“Right,” Thor says. What can one say, really. “What an asshole.”

He’s not great at this, he must admit. Loki scoffs, mocking his pathetic attempt. It stings a little. 

Loki takes a deep, deep drag. Thor may not like the taste, but he must admit, he likes the look.

“I remember I used to ask him outright, _how in the world was a guy like you still single?_ ” muses Loki absently, looking out without seeing. _“_ That would usually be after he’d made love to me on the couch until my eyes went cross.” He snorts.

Thor doesn’t want to fucking hear about Loki and the fucking boss _making love_.

“And he never said one word, not a hint, nothing,” keeps musing Loki. “He could have fucking prepared me, somehow. I don’t know. Stop me from… getting so deep into it. I mean, it was only a couple of months. I really. I may have just rushed into it a bit, but. I really thought we had it all.” Sigh. Then a whisper, "Three months, one week, and three days."

“So what happened.” Thor has really had it up till here of hearing how wonderful it was with fucking Mr. Wardrobe.

Loki drinks down the rest of his beer in three big gulps.

“I broke it off, of course,” he says. 

An awkward silence.

“So?” asks Thor.

“So what.”

“So why are you still working there?”

Loki butts out his smoke with a cruel twist. 

“Because I’m a moron.” 

He strides to the bathroom, slams the door. It’s a cheap door, only a couple of spit-glued paper sheets, so Thor hears him piss, hears him flush, hears the tap running for a few long moments. 

When Loki finally comes out, his skin is pink and his hair a bit damp where he must have been splashing cold water on his face. To stop the crying, maybe. He collapses on the bed, on his back, shuts his eyes. Thor’s eyes zoom in on his dick curved to the right over his thigh, a dark pink. He’s almost entirely hairless, just a few silky curls here and there. Makes him look younger than he probably is. Must be a good skin for inking.

“Why did you stay?” Thor says.

Loki’s sigh gets shaky at mid-point. He takes his time, but eventually he answers.

“After we broke up, I asked him if I should leave, and he said ‘we can be grown ups about this, can’t we?’ I don’t even know what he meant. Anyway, I still made a couple of enquiries, and at both places they asked ‘why do you want to leave after less than a year?’ and gave me a strange face when I said ‘personal problems.’ I’m still not sure if it would be better if I elaborated or not. It all sounds bad enough I guess. For me.” Another wet, shuddery sigh, a deep frown. “But I… I just didn’t _want_ to leave. I loved that place, loved the clients and the work, and I love my apartment, and I love… loved, my life here. In my mind I had already buried my roots in here. I just wanted it to work out somehow.” More sighing, then a bitter chuckle. “…Or maybe I’m actually fucking hoping that he will leave his wife. I’m petty like that.”

“Do you think he will? Leave his wife.”

“For _me_? Somehow I don’t fucking think so, no,” scoffs Loki, abrasive. Then, in a mutter, “Not that I’d want that, break up that lovely fucking family. And what the fuck would I do with three fucking step-kids and two step-dogs. Shit, no. That’s… that’s done. Gone. Finished.”

Thor doesn't say it looked miles away from finished from where he stood tonight at the parking lot.

“So what’s the plan then.”

“I don’t fucking know,” sighs Loki. “Finish the one year, was the plan. One year. So that it doesn’t sound so bad to prospective employers. And meanwhile, I build up my portfolio, so that I don’t have to start from scratch again. …I knew it wouldn’t work out. I just… wanted it to.” The last words came out choked. Loki rubs his eyes.

“Why was he kissing you earlier,” asks Thor. He tries to sound business-like, like he’s taking a survey.

Loki throws him a look that tells him he’s not fooling anyone.

“For a while Svad kept to his lane and I to mine. I guess he was rattled about almost getting caught. Maybe now he's sure she doesn’t suspect, and he's feeling more confident or something. How the fuck should I know, it's not exactly like we talk. Anyway, you can imagine how it is. We spend hours alone in that shop. …Fuck, I guess it’s my fault.”

“ _Your_ fault?”

“Can’t help how I look at him. Can’t help how I feel.” Loki's voice sounds so fucking small. “He was the funniest, sweetest guy, so full of sunshine,” he murmurs. “Just being around him made me feel more alive. I really thought it was forever. I wanted it to be. Never thought I’d even want that, but I did, with him...”

Half of Thor is being slowly poisoned with the lead he tastes on his tongue hearing all of that. The other half is looking at Loki like he’s never seen a human being before. 

“I guess I kinda knew all along,” says Loki absently. “I wanted to not fucking see it, didn’t I? He never took me out to dinner or a movie or to do anything fun, he never took me to his place. It was always mine, or that fucking couch. He avoided flirting or touching when they could see us. I thought he was just being professional." A bitter snort. "And he never slept over. Once or twice, perhaps when the wife was out of town, off to visit granny and grandpa with all the kiddies. No-one as blind as one who doesn’t want to see." Deep, long, miserable sigh. "Why don’t I just get the fucking message already.”

“What message?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” says Loki sarcastically. “All the men I’m attracted to treat me like shit. Maybe I just give off a cheap slut vibe that draws in all the assholes in town, or maybe the problem _is_ mine. In any case, the world agrees that I’m clearly not worth the effort.”

Thor is blinking quickly, at a loss. What Loki is dishing out now, Thor doesn’t know what to do with. The shocking thing is that Thor is not pushing it away from him as he’d usually do. Instead, before he knows it, he’s prodding in it.

“Do I treat you like shit?”

“Do you treat…?!” gasps Loki, half-sitting in bed now, green eyes wide with rage. “You treat me like a fucking piece of meat, like a blow up doll! Is not that what I am to you, an asshole to fuck without having to be _gentle_? Your fucking words!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Thor protests. It sounded meek and whiny and so not like him.

Shit, it sounded pathetic. He's sounding _pathetic_. His heart is ramping up, panicky.

"Oh, do beg your pardon, how did you fucking mean it?" says Loki, mocking him. Yeah, get yourself out of that one, big boy.

“I thought we were just, you know, having fun together.” Is all Thor manages.

“Oh dear, so sorry,” spits Loki, sarcastic. “I _do_ apologize, forgive me. It’s my fault, of course. I shouldn’t have _feelings_.”

“You have feelings for _me!_?” gasps Thor, heart in his throat all of a sudden.

“ _Feelings,_ in general!” barks Loki. “Hello? Person? Fellow human being?”

Thor holds his stare, but it costs him.

Then a huff, and all the fire is gone from Loki again. He lies back down, arms around himself, gaze lost on the ceiling, and he murmurs, as if thinking out loud,

“You treat me like that, and here I am, back for more. If I don’t care for my own fucking pride and dignity, why should you. Right?”

Pride and dignity?, thinks Thor, this fucking _prince_? As if he could ever fucking lose them. As if that was fucking _possible_ . He really wants to say that, somehow. Can’t think of the words. There’s an almighty jumble of half-formed sentences in his brain. _What we do, baby… Pride is not even in the equation. What we do together_ … _You make me feel like an animal, but also_ … _What I feel when I’m with you, Loki.._.

Shit, he’s hyperventilating a bit and all.

“So what do you want from me,” he says abruptly, harassed. “Flowers? Dinner and a movie?” 

“ _Nothing_ ,” hisses Loki. “I want nothing from you.”

That feels like a fucking slap across the face.

 _...He was the funniest, sweetest guy, so full of sunshine... Just being around him made me feel more alive... I really thought it was forever. I wanted it to be. Never thought I’d even want that, but I did, with him..._  

Thor's gut burns with acid. He's not fun, he's not sweet, and he certainly isn't full of fucking sunshine.

“Are you done? Got what you came for?” snaps Loki. “Then get out.”

He rolls onto his side, curls up small, arms wrapped around himself. 

Thor usually knows when it’s time to go, and never needs telling twice. So why is he still there. 

He drags himself up, fishes clothes from all over the flat, gets dressed.

 

“I’m leaving now,” he says, standing by the bed.

Loki says nothing. Thor stares at him lying there, miserable and loathing himself and hating Thor. And Thor doesn’t want to leave like that, he wants to… What the fuck does he want to do? What the fuck _can_ he do?

The comforter is bundled at the foot of the bed (it was unmade when they fell on it). It seems only natural to pull it over the body curled up on the sheets.

Loki does not react in any way as Thor tucks him in.

“See you around,” Thor says softly.

Still not one word, not a twitch from Loki. Thor wishes he started screaming at him instead.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ctopey did beta this chap, but i've kept fiddling with it after, so any messes you find are totally mine.


	4. D for Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superfluous I think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story won't leave me alone, apparently, and the rest have all locked themselves up in their rooms and refuse to come out...
> 
> THEY WILL, I'm sure. They can't stay in there forever. But in the meantime...

  


“Just a fucking moment!” shouts Loki, tying a towel around his waist. He rushes to the door leaving a wet trail. There’s a loud, urgent, insisting knock that sounds like there’s a fire in his neighbor’s kitchen about to devour the entire goddamn building.

But there isn’t. It’s just Thor.

“I knew it was a great idea to let the psycho know where I live,” sighs Loki. Thor checks him out without shame. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Do you need a ride?”

“A _what_?”

“You left your car at the bar last night. You’ll need it to go to work. I can give you a ride.”

Loki’s thought process wades slowly through the swamp of sleep, residual hungover, and sheer surprise.

“What?”

Thor does not repeat himself. Loki rubs his eyes, so tired.

“I was going to get the bus,” he says. (Two fucking changes. He was _so_ looking forwards to that, yay.)

“Or I can give you a ride,” insists Thor.

Loki squints. Is Thor just being… nice? Excuse Loki for feeling skeptical.

“My butt is sore,” reports Loki, with attitude. He’s still in nothing but a towel. If Thor gives him the shit-eater’s special, Loki’s going to fucking smash the door in his face, with glee, fucking double bus changes be damned.

Thor _does_ smile, a little, and his eyes dip down to the general area of the towel, but he seems only moderately smug, and mostly just… sunshiny. Enjoying the memories, perchance.

“Seat is nicely padded,” he says. And that sounded nothing but playful. What is he on?

Loki’s still suspicious, but _two fucking changes_. He sighs. Fuck it.

“Ok, fine, whatever,” he says. “I’ll need a minute.”

He closes the door but doesn’t lock it. One second later, he hears it open. Thor is looking through a crack. Loki rolls his eyes, but who cares. He drops the towel. The crack gets a bit wider. Loki rushes around putting on clothes, in full view of Thor, but he's all business; doesn’t even flaunt it. His hair is still wet. He gives it a quick, energetic rub with the towel. Then downs two aspirin, (he’s a bit hungover), fixes himself an emergency cup of coffee (just cold milk and instant, badly dissolved), downs it in three gulps. Okay then. Jacket on, boots on. Wallet? Check. Keys...?

“The fuck are my keys…” he mumbles, patting pockets.

Thor dangles in the air a set of keys in a glitzy keychain.

“They were in the lock,” he says.

Loki double deep sighs, snatches the keys. Honestly, Loki...

Thor is standing at the door. Does he even realize he’s blocking the way?

“Well?” prompts Loki.

With a vague smile that barely touches his lips but brightens his eyes with amusement, Thor hands him a helmet and begins to hop down the stairs. Loki examines the helmet in his hands (full-face, dark green shell, black visor, heavy as fuck, kinda snazzy), with dismay. Hm, great, he forgot about that, borrowed helmets. He turns up his nose, but when he sniffs inside, it smells brand new. He checks it, turns it this way and that. Yeah, pristine, untouched. _Actually_ brand new? He contemplates that notion with a puzzled frown.

Look, it doesn't fricking matter. He follows Thor down the stairs.

On the street, Thor is waiting for him beside his sleek machine, black with a thin gold line around all the edges and a few touches of red. It screams custom paint job. When Thor sees him, he puts his helmet on, gets on the bike, kicks the stand, and turns the engine on. The bike begins to purr like a satisfied panther. It’s not one of those you ride almost in a sitting position; this is more like straddling the back of a beast. The rider has to lean forward when it speeds up. Thor wears black jeans today, and his leather jacket, and brown cowboy boots. It all looks damn fine, bike and rider, the one an extension of the other, coming together like it was meant to be. Yeah, it’s hot. But Loki is not in the mood. He refuses to be this morning, with Thor.

The passenger has a very narrow spot on the seat to place his butt; it doesn’t offer a lot of safety or comfort. Bit tipsy and moping and needy as he felt yesterday, he had no problems sticking to Thor and wrapping around him like an octopus, but in broad daylight, after last night’s chat, it seems way more intimate and close than Loki’s willing to be, no matter how much closer they’ve physically been. He puts on the helmet (which definitely smells fresh and new) and throws his leg over the bike (the beast gives and tilts slightly while Loki settles his weight, and Thor holds the balance with two feet planted firmly on the ground), and instead of Thor's waist, Loki grabs the metal handle behind the seat. Hm, this bike is not really made for riding bitch, is it.

Thor revs up, and the bike lurches forward with a jolt, almost fucking throws Loki off. Instinctively, he clings to Thor’s waist. And then he feels Thor chuckling. Oh, the bastard did it on purpose.

“Asshole!” he screams.

Thor just laughs some more. It kinda feels nice, his chuckles, shaking those muscles packed in warm leather. Just in case there’s more assholery coming, Loki holds on tight.

They leave the relatively empty streets of Loki’s neighborhood, and cross the busier area around the mall. They negotiate the traffic with ease, winding between the cars, leaving behind the weekenders stuck in rows, boxed in their four-wheeled monstrosities. From their swift, agile, gorgeous ride, all Loki can think is 'peasants'. Oh yes, he gets the attraction, alright.

Then Thor takes a few left turns, and keeps heading north. Is this like a shortcut, or a detour to avoid jams, or…? The streets get quieter, floors keep getting shaved off the buildings, and now they’re surrounded by two-story houses behind white picket fences and big tidy lawns. Traffic has thinned down to a trickle.

“Where the fuck are you taking me?” screams Loki, to make himself heard through two helmets, and the thrum of the engine.

Of course Thor doesn’t answer.

They’re leaving the suburbs. Soon they’re on the open road, straight and empty, corn fields either side, and gaining speed. The fuck? Is Thor going to murder him and bury him in the wilderness or something?

“I said, where the hell are we going!” screams Loki again, with a note of hysteria in his voice.

Thor pulls up in the middle of nowhere, nobody around except for a red farm and barn miles off in the middle of a green field, the suburbs ten minutes behind them. He takes off his helmet, half turns to look at Loki.

“Your helmet.”

“What?”

“Take off your helmet.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Thor is smiling over his shoulder, his eyes sparkly. His face is calm, but he still manages to look excited as a little boy. It’s a damn good look on him.

And Loki takes off the helmet, god knows why. Thor holds his between his legs (bit precariously if you ask Loki), Loki clicks his to the bar behind his seat.

Then the engine revs up again.

“Hold on,” says Thor, with a quick pat on Loki’s hands around his middle.

On they go. And now Loki gets it. The machine is thrumming between his legs, the wind buffets his face, the sun warms it. Loki shuts his eyes, feels the speed, nothing between himself and the world rushing by. Looks up to the sky, deep deep blue, fluffy white clouds. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. It’s fucking wonderful.

A long, empty stretch of road. Thor hits the gas, the bike roars, they go faster and faster, and Loki should probably be a little bit scared, but he’s fucking thrilled. Thor gives off control, experience, and only a little drop of madness, and Loki feels safe, or perhaps he’s just fucking loving this too much to care. He always had a little madness in him too.

The constant zoom of the wind becomes white noise. Loki plunges in it, lets his mind wander off. He even leans on Thor’s back for a while, so warm, rests his head on his shoulder, closes his eyes, feels the speed, the beautiful rush.

 

They ride for an hour at speeds that are almost definitely illegal, before they take a long turn, and start heading back. Loki has no idea what that was all about, but he’s loved every single minute.

When they’re getting closer to the city, Thor pulls up to put their helmets back on, to save themselves a fine or something.

“Enjoyed that?”

“Ate plenty of bugs,” says Loki.

Thor grins, only half his mouth. He’s stupidly handsome, it hits Loki every time; he can’t seem to get used to it, especially when his jaw splits into that blinding smile. Loki puts his helmet on, the visor down. 

Thor puts on his helmet too, and revs up. Loki’s getting to really… _enjoy_ that noise, if you know what I mean. Gives him sexy tingles. And seeing Thor’s big hands on the… handlebar or whatever the fuck it’s called. The little jerk to pump up the power. The quiet, uncontested control, economy of gesture, perfect self-assurance. Yeah, that bike is a fucking turn-on, no doubt about it.

“Ready?” booms Thor. And gives Loki a little nudge.

Loki clings to his waist, anticipating the lurch in his stomach when the bike jumps forward.

 

Back in the streets, through the northern side of town. They’re in a posh-ish artsy quarter, or what in this city passes for one. Loki has never been. Seems nice.

Thor pulls up, climbs down, gets his helmet off.

“Where are we?” asks Loki, taking in their surroundings. They’re in front of a cute, if pretentious, little hipster cafe. “Why did we stop?”

“I’ll be a minute,” says Thor.

And walks into the cafe.

Okay, whatever. He might need to run some errands or something. Loki climbs down, takes his helmet off, tries to fluff his hair. It was damp when he first put on the helmet, but riding without it, the sun and the wind dried it completely. Needs brushing, but even with the helmet crushing it after, perhaps it’s not looking too bad… He gives it a couple of thorough, heavy-metal concert style shakes.

Then he stretches his legs, massages them a bit. They feel strained in a weird way after the long ride, inner thighs kinda sore, a bit like after some strenuous fucking. Hah, they were sore earlier, dumbo. Remember what other thing you were riding for an hour last night? Yeah, be my guest, blush right ahead, enjoy the ghost tingles.

Here comes Thor, with two cups of coffee and… is that a bag of fucking croissants.

“I went with cream no sugar,” informs Thor, as he hands him one of the cups. He holds a little packet. “Here’s sugar if you need some.”

Loki stares. What the hell.

“Croissant?” offers Thor.

Loki processes. Breakfast. He got him _breakfast_.

“No sugar is fine,” says Loki eventually, when he gets his speech back. He takes the coffee and one of the pastries.

Thor eats on his feet, Loki rests his butt on the bike. Thor’s taken the lid off his cup and he’s dipping the croissants in, getting crumbs and dripping coffee all over his beard. Loki can’t help but stare in fascination, for some reason. Thor wolves down four croissants in the time Loki takes to eat one. Loki usually has a healthy appetite, particularly for French pastry, but he’s still feeling a bit _bleurgh_ from yesterday (hey, he’s no lightweight, he can totally handle his drink, but he shouldn’t fucking mix shit), and even if he wasn’t, he’d be trying not to get crumbs and coffee stains all over his clothes, because guess who has two thumbs and only three outfits decent enough for work and has to do all the laundry around here.

They don’t talk.

Quiet Sunday, not many people about. Nice area.

“Never been in this part of the city before,” says Loki. “You live around here?”

“No.”

Loki waits. And waits and waits and waits. Then he huffs, and gives up.  _What a conversationalist we have among us. No ‘time’ for romance, eh? Fucking small-talk-challenged is what you are. No wonder you had to resort to bro-jobs_.

Anyway, enough socializing. Loki still needs to do things before he has to get to work, and he’s wasted half a day already on this fucking unscheduled road trip.

“You’re taking me to the bar now?” he says. “I need my car.”

Thor puts the last remaining croissant whole in his mouth (impressive), snatches Loki’s empty cup from his hand, and throws everything in the garbage around the corner, like a good boy.

When he gets back, after dusting his hands, he gets on the bike and puts on his helmet (that little hair shake he does, his mane billowing in gold). He turns on the engine, a little rev up, and turns his head to Loki. He hasn't said a thing. Loki huffs again. A man of few words indeed. He grabs the helmet, climbs on. Grabs onto Thor, but with a loose hold, merely functional, and keeping his distance.

 

Thor doesn’t fuck about with sudden rev ups and stops on the drive to the bar, and he gets him there by a sensible, efficient route, which is just as well, because Loki’s not in the mood anymore.

And there’s Loki’s rickety twenty-year-old Fiesta, all alone in the parking lot. It’s a shabby-looking, discolored, unloved little thing, clunky and boxy in design, nondescript shade of washed out green; even on paper, from conception, it was never intended to be too special, never meant to get anyone excited or happy to own it. ‘Fiesta’? As if. This thing is as suggestive of party feelings as a paper hat you find on the floor on the morning of New Year’s day, discarded and then trampled by the guests on their way out; ‘ _2000_ ’ must have been printed in glitzy gold in front of it, probably.

Loki’s kinda developed affection for it. It just looks so sad– look at it. _Sorry, buddy,_ Loki finds himself actually thinking, _sorry I left you here all alone._

Thor pulls up right beside it, switches off the bike’s engine. Loki climbs down and hands Thor the helmet. Thor has taken his off as well, fluffs his hair absently, climbs down from the bike in turn. He’s standing there, in silence. He looks kinda ominous, a man on a mission. What is he waiting for?

“Uh,” says Loki, skittish. “Thanks? I guess?”

Thor is throwing him quick looks. Loki has the distinct impression that, if he didn’t have two big helmets in his hands, Thor would be wringing them. He… does not fucking expect _payment_ or something, does he? I swear, if Thor was thinking he’d get a blow job at the end of all this, Loki’s going to…

“So, you want to do this again?” asks Thor abruptly, as if he had to blurt it out quickly, or fail to get it out altogether.

“Huh?”

Thor shrugs his shoulders in response, staring at his feet, an overgrown kid, all bashful.

Oh. _Oh_. It fucking dawns on Loki at last.

“Was this supposed to be like a date or something?” he gasps, unbelieving.

Thor shrugs again, checks Loki’s expression with half an eye, through golden bangs.

“Do you want to do it again or what?” says Thor.

“Go out on a date, with _you_?” repeats Loki. Just making sure he got this right.

Judging from Thor’s loud silence, and those short, shifty little looks, yes, Loki got this right.

He can’t fucking believe this.

“Oh, gee, let me think about it. _No_?” says Loki. A grand total of half a second is how long it took him to reach a conclusion.

Thor looks at him blankly.

“…No?” he echoes.

“Hell, no,” repeats Loki, in layman’s terms.

Thor is staring like an idiot.

“Why not?”

“ _Why_ _not_?” gasps Loki. “Hm, let’s see. Because you are an asshole?”

Thor blinks, looking helpless for a second.

“Why am I an asshole?”

Loki snorts. _Un-fucking-believable_.

“ _Why…?_ Because you fuck holes instead of people. Because even after you decided you wanted to get in my pants, you could not fucking afford me some basic respect or even a measure of common courtesy. Because you’re so fucking full of yourself, you actually think all it takes to change my mind about you is a cup of coffee and a fucking croissant. And don’t get me started on your conversation skills, or pitiful lack thereof. Even I can tell you’re not dating material, that’s how fucking bad it is. You’re good for one thing, Thor, and it’s not going out for coffee.”

Thor stands there staring blankly like a lemon. Well, that floored him. And Loki is not _one_ bit sorry, no matter that those blue eyes are now so wide and forsaken that they would not be out of place on an abandoned puppy about to be dumped in a kennel.

“So anyway, thanks for the ride,” Loki says, looking away. “See you around, I guess.”

He’s kinda waiting for a reaction (dudebros don’t take rejection well, perhaps Loki shouldn't have done this on a Sunday afternoon in a deserted parking lot) but there isn’t any. All Thor does is frown, look down at his feet, and step back. He puts on his helmet (without little head shake this time), gets on his bike, starts the thing with a roar, and rides off.

It’s Loki who’s standing there like an idiot now.

He gets into his car and welcomes for once the dank smell embedded deep into the ugly grey upholstery, years worth of old, re-circulated smoke and dust; he’s done all he could think of to get rid of it, unsuccessfully, but today he's happy it's strong enough to have drowned any reminder that Thor was ever here.

Deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts, get a bit of order up there. He needs food, toiletries, cleaning stuff, and he needs to get some supplies from the art shop. What he absolutely does _not_ fucking need right now is to feel guilty over making Thor _sad_ . Like, don’t even. Fucking hell, man. After the way he’s used you, after the things he’s said to you, all he has to do is fucking kidnap you on a surprise coffee date and take you for a ride and you’re already having _feelsies_? You have to stop thinking, feeling, and acting like a fucking doormat, dude. No wonder every asshole in town is queuing up to walk all over you.

He starts his sad, uninspired old Fiesta, and gets on with his fucking life.

 

___________________

  


If Thor could think of the word right now, he’d probably describe how he’s feeling as ‘devastated’. As he rides aimlessly around town, all the things he should have said to Loki in the parking lot and could not articulate to save his life, come to him and fucking haunt him. _Now_ , when they’re entirely fucking useless.

 _“You fuck holes instead of people.”_  Oh, man. _Loki, that’s not how I meant it. It came out wrong. Yeah, the whole fucking gays thing because of the anal… I meant that’s how it had_ started _, what had led me to ditch the no-gays rule, but… But Loki, baby, that wasn’t about you. You’re, like, the farthest fucking thing from… I liked you from the moment I saw you, baby. For weeks I mooned over you, and_ …

And when he told Loki not to get clingy… Shit. Why did he have to say that, why? And in the same fucking sentence as the anal thing, too? It was just his usual spiel, and it rolled off his tongue as it always did. He had no fucking idea he would spend the following week thinking of pretty much nothing but Loki. He’s never wanted to go back in time and kick himself in the nuts as badly as he does now. Why can’t you just keep your big stupid mouth shut, you idiot?

And it’s not like Thor has a very clear idea of what the fuck he’s after now, no idea what he was aiming to achieve with this whole thing this morning. He hasn’t slept much. He’d not been _thinking_ , he just… _Loki_ . Loki curled up hugging himself. Thor couldn’t just leave him there, like that. Or he guesses he could, but he doesn’t _want_ to.

What he wants is. What he was trying to do today… “ _Was this like a date or something?”_ I don’t fucking know, man. He just wanted to show Loki that he didn’t see him as just a piece of meat. He wanted to make amends. He wanted to see him smile, after last night. He wanted to make it right. He even went and bought a fucking helmet for him. Green, like Loki’s eyes.

Well, that has gone down well, hasn’t it.

Why the fuck did he just stand there like an idiot while Loki said all those things? Why had Thor not… tried to explain or…? Something, goddammit. _Anything_ . But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. Loki’s words falling on him like blows, one after the other. “ _You’re good for one thing, Thor, and it’s not going out for coffee_.”

 

He rides and rides and rides. For once, it doesn’t help clear his mind at all. He’s thinking of Loki clinging to his waist, Loki’s warmth behind his back, Loki’s yowl when Thor kept hitting the gas, and they kept getting faster and faster.

 _What you want, what you’re after, has nothing to do with being compatible, doofus_.

When he stops to fill up the tank, already heading home, Thor realizes he _is_ actually feeling better, that his thoughts are actually clearer. Namely, he’s now clear on three things. One, that this is _important_. Two, that no matter what, Loki should hear all the things Thor didn’t get to say out loud today. Three, that giving up has never been Thor’s style, not when it counts, and that’s he’s never had more reason not to give up than now.

He just needs to work out how to stop turning into a dumb lump of rock whenever Loki unleashes his tongue on him. But words are not Thor’s thing; he’s a man of action. They do say that actions speak louder than words…

Wait.

You know what else they say? That an image is worth a thousand words. Here's a thought.

Hell, yeah, Thor has an idea.

 

 

  
  
__________________________________  


 

(A.N: If you're wondering how Thor's bike looks like)

[Kawasaki GPZ 900 Ninja Black Edition](https://www.google.es/imgres?imgurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.motorcyclespecs.co.za%2FGallery%2FKawasaki%2520GPZ900R%252090%2520%25202.jpg&imgrefurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.motorcyclespecs.co.za%2Fmodel%2Fkawasaki%2Fkawasaki_gpz900r_91.htm&docid=4XnGdbMVgnYXbM&tbnid=hRz6VymDePAvOM%3A&vet=1&w=600&h=414&client=safari&bih=811&biw=1246&q=kawasaki%20gpz%20ninja%20black%20900&ved=0ahUKEwjY8tXp1KnSAhWGmBoKHXf_CVAQMwgkKAkwCQ&iact=mrc&uact=8#h=414&imgdii=JZIh0-4mg7Zo0M:&imgrc=hRz6VymDePAvOM:&vet=1&w=600)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone can explain poor technologically challenged me how to insert the link in the notes instead of the bottom of the chapter, in a way I can understand... Well, you get the gist.
> 
> A brief note on Thor's /other/ baby: it's a historical bike, (apparently it was fabricated from 1983 to 2003, and no, this is not something I knew, just learned it while looking for pictures...) and they don't make it anymore.
> 
> Why did I choose this particular bike, you say? Well, my dad had a BMW for a few years, it was so fricking cool the few times he took me for a spin on it. AWESOME. All the sensations, including the "peasant" thing. SO like this Thor. The memories of that BMW put something else in my mind, instead of the usual Harley (which I've never been onto. They do say write what you know, and for these little things, I think they're actually on to something).
> 
> But speaking of sensations, I chose this one and not a BMW because Lou Reed mentions a GPZ in his song "New Sensations", which I love. The fact that this song's title goes so well with Thor's emotional development is accidental.
> 
> OR IS IT


	5. E for Emotional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's head is still spinning from the rollercoaster-weekend, but Thor is of the belief one should hit the metal while it's still hot.

Monday. Loki sneaks into the shop at lunchtime, when he knows Svad will be out. He still checks furtively around as he hangs up his jacket and makes sure for the hundredth time that the skinny scarf he’s looped around his neck is covering the shocking love-bite Thor left there - that _animal_.

Not that he owes Svad anything, of course. Loki’s free to get himself all the dick he wants. But he’s jerky about that conversation. He’s kind of paranoid that now that Svad has, uh, _met_ Thor, he’ll be able to smell him on Loki or something. Ridiculous, sure, but after the showdown in the parking lot on Saturday... Yeah, he doesn’t want to be in the middle of that particular shit fest right now, so careful accessorizing it is.

It’s just, what went on last Friday in the shop. After weeks of much sighing and lingering, longing looks, a few chosen words, and a couple of _moments_ , Loki totally let Svad press him against a wall at closing time for a thorough smooch. Then he scampered in a panic, and refused to answer Svad’s messages. That’s what got Loki into that pickle on Saturday. Svad had never come to the bar before (he probably doesn’t get many chances, with the kids and all). But on Saturday he turned up ready for the kill, his best assets displayed to full advantage (only the ones that wouldn’t get him arrested of course, but even those shouldn’t fucking be legal) and Loki’s knees had started to wobble like a caramel flan, because Svad can still do all sorts of things to him with a wink and a smile. _“So this is the weekend gig,”_ he had purred, his huge, humorous brown eyes doing indecent things to Loki behind the bar. Loki had tried to do his thing (he’d been vaguely aware of Thor’s blue eyes following him around with a very unfriendly stare), but his heart had been having its own fucking bouncy castle party in his chest, and oh god, in the parking lot… In spite of everything Loki knows to be true, when Svad pressed himself against him by the car, it just felt so fucking good. Loki was melting in those arms he had thought of as home, for a while, where he had felt loved and treasured and safe, found, owned, and oh so wanted. It had only been a dream, of course (worse, a lie), but tell that to his heart, going strong with the confetti and the paper hats and the party crackers. And tell that to other pulsing muscles of his body. It had taken everything Loki had to say no in the parking lot. Had it not been for Thor…

Thor. What the fuck is going on there. The guy just keeps shaking Loki’s assumptions and leaving him guessing. He would have wagered that Thor’s idea of a date would be more of the ‘club them on the head, drag them by the hair into the cave’ style, not… Awesome motorbike rides and freshly baked French pastry. And still, Loki must be growing up - after that fucking _date_ , the old him would be head over heels in love with that asshole, no more questions asked. But present-day, older and wiser him, isn’t. What he definitely is, is wondering if there is more to Thor than he assumed at first, and all the things he told Thor on Sunday keep plaguing him. _But that’s because you’re a fucking softie, you idiot_ , he tells himself, very sternly. _Telling him to go fuck himself is the wisest, healthiest fucking thing you’ve done for yourself in quite some time. Don’t disappoint me now._ Clearly he’s learned much with Svad, hasn’t he? He’s learned stonework, Haida, Samoan, _and_ that all men are assholes.

Including himself, perhaps, because if it wasn’t for the three step-kids, he might have fantasized once or twice about Svad dumping his wife for little old him. He’s only human, okay?, and very fucking desperately in love. …But nah, forget it, it’s over. Not just because Loki can’t really wipe out of his mind the wife’s face, her cute, humorous expressions, teasing her husband, and being quite funny and charming overall, and just… seeming like a nice person who does not deserve this shit. But because Svad is not the man of Loki’s dreams. Cannot possibly be. The man of Loki’s dreams would not cheat on his spouse and lie to his lover so brazenly, _and_ try again the moment he thinks the coast is clear. I mean, Loki’s hardly a saint, and he has very loose morals, but this is just Not Good.

He touches up his scarf, again, and picks up the broom and duster. _You don’t have to do that, why do I pay a cleaning service for?_ , said Svad when Loki first started doing it. But Loki didn’t mind it at all. Made him feel a bit more like he belonged in this place, like he owned it a little. Now it’s just a habit. Spruce up for the afternoon shift, when it gets a bit busier with the passing trade. That’s what Svad needed a part-time employee for, so that there would be two people on deck when the one was in the back doing a job, to answer the phone, attend walk-ins, ask the preliminary questions and take up details, do a piercing or two. It’s hardly the glamorous life of Loki’s imagination, but he had been content with his lot, until recently, and after the whole affair-that-crashed-and-burned ordeal, he’d been happy to have kept the operation running more or less as before. Svad is really very good as an artist, and has a knack for teaching, and is always willing to let Loki practice and try new techniques.

Loki does not know what happens now, after Saturday. He didn’t lift a finger or say one word to explain what was going on, and try to calm the situation down, he didn’t protest Svad’s innocence; he just stood there like a dunce. And he doesn’t know where they stand, how pissed off Svad is at the rebuff. He’d thought so far that Svad was a decent man, in his own way, but right now? God knows. Loki is questioning everything. Did Svad keep him around in the shop hoping to get Loki back in the sack when things calmed down? Does that mean Loki is fired now?

...Which is why he’s sneaked in at lunchtime, and is now trying to decide what would be best: a quiet afternoon so that they can tackle the situation in peace, or a really, really busy one that allows them to postpone it all until a later date.

When he hears the keys in the back door, he tenses up. He hears the usual noises. The lock, the rustle of street clothes taken off and hung up, the light tread of Svad’s leather thong sandals. Loki gulps as the steps approach. He hesitates between pretending he’s on Cloud 9 and hasn’t noticed a thing, or confronting him outright. In the end, it’s his shifty eyes that betray him and meet Svad’s when he appears, looking wild and dashing and ravishing as always.

“Hey,” rumbles the one Loki once believed the love of his life.

“Hey,” says Loki, after a harrumph to clear his throat.

“Any calls?”

“No.”

Silence. Balls of metaphorical tumbleweed rolling between them, neither can meet the other’s eyes. Okay, dear Lord, I have made up my mind, thinks Loki. If you have a natural disaster stashed somewhere, now it’s the perfect time to unleash it on this town. I would rather not have this conversation right now, _or_ this fucking silence.

It’s gotten deep into the Cringing zone, and reaching Excruciating, when the doorbell rings, thank God. (Loki internally releases a flock of white doves and balloons to the tune of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony.)

They both turn. It’s some guy in a suit.

...A very fucking big, muscular, fucking gorgeous guy in a very well-tailored business suit, with what Loki happens to know is a lustrous (and oh so soft) mane of golden hair tamed and slicked back into a sexy manbun. Shit, fuck, damn. _Wow_ . Need a fucking sling for that jaw, sir? It’s quite close to touching the floor. And also, what the _fuck_ is _he_ doing here.

It takes Svad a moment longer to place that face. After all, Saturday’s encounter was dark, it was shaky, it was quick, and that face does look entirely different attached to a leather jacket rather than attached to a sleek lead grey suit. But get there, Svad does, and oh, when he does. Loki fucking feels it, the change in the energy of the room, when Svad finally identifies Thor. His posture turns from business casual to alpha wolf faced with an intruder in his territory, his every muscle in tension, about to spring, veins rising in his neck. It’s kind of beautiful, although Loki is too fucking alarmed to appreciate it.

Thor lifts his hands in full surrender, a charming, luminous, perfectly unthreatening smile on his beautiful face.

“Whoa, whoa, dude, I’m not here to make trouble, I swear,” he’s saying calmly. “I’m so sorry about the other day. Loki, I am sorry. I had had a few, and I saw what I saw, and we all like Loki very much, and I totally misunderstood the situation. I shouldn’t have intruded. My bad. I apologize.” So _this_ is the angel face and the tone of voice that charmed Thor’s little gang out of trouble that one time.

Svad is leering, his frown still just as aggressive. You can taste the testosterone raging in the air. (If they’re going to do this, they should do it naked in a mud bath, just saying.)

“Please,” says Thor, extending his hand. “Loki and… Svad, is it? Accept my wholehearted apologies. I meant well, and I fucked up. I’m awfully sorry.”

Thor is there with his hand out, and Svad isn’t taking it. Several forevers pass by. Jesus Christ, the tension.

Eventually, Svad takes Thor’s hand, and shakes it, with not a lot of conviction.

“I apologize,” repeats Thor.

“Alright,” says Svad warily. “You came here just to say that?”

“Actually, no,” smiles Thor. “I was thinking of getting a tattoo, and I asked around, and everybody tells me this is the best place in the city!”

 _What_ . Loki snaps his head around towards Thor, eyes wide with _what the fuck_.

“A tattoo,” repeats Svad, suspicious.

“Yes,” says Thor, his angel face resisting admirably the dreadful atmosphere in the shop.

“And what kind of thing did you have in mind,” asks Svad, his leer sizing Thor up, his crisp, expensive suit, his shiny shoes, the fucking golden tie pin.

“Oh, I was hoping to defer to your artistic judgement. I’m open to ideas.” Thor looks around at the samples on the walls.

“See anything you like?” asks Svad.

“Plenty,” says Thor. “But I was hoping for something unique. I mean, an exclusive design, just for me.”

“I see,” says Svad. “That doesn’t come cheap.”

“I understand,” smiles Thor.

“Would that be your first tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of size are you thinking?”

“Sizeable.”

“Any particular style you’re looking for?”

“Hm,” says Thor, with an air of discerning consideration, “I love this.” He approaches a particular piece framed on the wall… which he probably remembers from seeing it at Loki’s place.

“That’s one of Loki’s,” says Svad.

“Oh, really?” says Thor innocently. “Wow, how come you never told us you were so talented!”

Loki throws him a very unprofessional squinting glower.

“So, could Loki design something just for me?” asks Thor, impervious.

“I don’t know, ask him,” says Svad. And between one thing and the other, especially with Loki quiet as a stone all this time, he must certainly be smelling something fishy now. “Loki?” he asks, with artificial lightness.

Could he? Stupid question, course he can. _Should_ he?

“What kind of thing,” asks Loki tightly.

“I don’t know. What do you see for me?” That fucking _face_. All that’s missing is a sweet batting of eyelids to complete the perfect picture of the blameless ingenue.

Oh, you fucker. How dare you, in my fucking shop, under my fucking ex’s nose. Thor’s eyes are locked on Loki’s, disarmingly open, really quite sweet. The silence is loooong. And awkward, and obvious.

“He needs a briefing, dude, some ideas,” interrupts Svad, cutting. “Some place to start.”

“I’m sure I’ll love whatever he comes up with. But I’ll pay for every discarded design, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I can even pay in advance. Whatever it takes.” He grins a snake-charmer’s grin.

Svad sighs.

“It’s your money, dude.” And to Loki. “It’s up to you, Lo.”

A sharp, metal sparkle glimmers in Thor’s eye at the pet name. _Jealous_.

Loki maintains his glower on full whack. Thor doesn’t even blink.

“I’ll think about it,” says Loki.

 

Some details are taken, like they would be for any other client.

“When do you think you’ll have some preliminary sketches or something to show me?” asks Thor.

“No idea,” says Loki, in a cutting, again rather unprofessional tone.

“Will you be doing the inking?”

“Loki is still learning,” says Svad.

“I’ll be happy to let him practice on me,” grins Thor.

Now there’s two pairs of squinting glares on Thor. And yes, in case you wonder, he’s still entirely unfazed. Cold fucker.

 

The chimes tinkle merrily when Thor closes the door behind him. They see him walk away through the shop windows.

“Are you fucking him?” asks Svad.

 _Gasp_. Loki grips the counter tight.

“How dare you ask me that,” he mutters. He was expecting something like it, but he’s still disappointed to hear it. He always thinks too well of Svad, that’s his problem.

Svad sighs deeply.

“I know,” he says, and he gives his eyes a good rub. “I’m sorry.”

 _Yeah, you always are_ , Loki doesn’t say.

“It’s just, I just… I still care so much for you, baby.”

About a dozen bitter comebacks come to Loki all at once. He saves them. He’s not going to enter a discussion about how much Svad loves him or not.

“It’s none of your business,” he says. And just because he wants to, and because it makes it easier for him, he adds, “But at the bar he’s always with a girl on each arm, so.” He wonders how long he could keep this on without telling one single lie.

“Well, I think he’s into you.”

“So what if he was,” says Loki. “Would that be a problem?”

Svad sighs some more. He’ll get light headed at this rate.

“I know I have to say of course not, and wish you all the best, and shut my mouth. And I do wish you the best, but…”

“So it’s a problem,” says Loki.

“I can’t help how I feel.”

Oh, _fuck you_.

“What if I started fucking Thor, what then,” challenges Loki. “Would you fire me or something?”

“Loki, how can you even…?” gasps Svad, dismayed. “Of course not. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“So did I.”

A crackling silence.

“I had that coming,” mutters Svad.

“Damn right you did,” mutters Loki.

Svad also takes a moment for this.

“I just think you deserve better than him, that’s all,” he says then.

Loki snorts. And among the million things he could say to that, he picks this one.

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know his type,” says Svad. “I know enough.”

Loki snorts again. You know, boss, you’re probably right.

“Anyway, I’m not fucking him,” says Loki. Which again, is the truth. Technically. Strictly speaking. Definitely not fucking Thor _right now_.

Svad looks thoughtful and grave and affected, and it’s a very fucking good look on him. Makes him look noble. Asshole.

“I’m going to work on this for a while,” announces Loki, picking up his sketch pad and his tablet, impatient to make himself scarce.

“What are you going to do?”

“It’ll come to me.”

 

It doesn’t. It fricking fracking doesn’t. It would help if Loki could fucking concentrate, instead of getting distracted by the massive anger he’s experiencing. He struggles to articulate why this whole thing is making him feel so... Goddammit, it’s a tattoo, it’s what he does, right? An exclusive design? Fucking Christmas! But there’s clearly more to it than that, and… What does Thor expect to get from this? Does he think Loki’s just going to faint with excitement over that super-duper-extra-cool commission, drop on his knees in gratitude, and then melt in his arms, because Thor graciously condescended to let him put some fucking ink on him? Does Thor think Loki’s really so easy, that he can be bought so cheap? That Loki’s completely stupid and will never see him coming? Is that how Thor sees him?

So yeah, he’s not really in the mood. He doesn’t _want_ to be thinking what stupid thing would Thor like to have inked on his stupid golden skin. He doesn’t _want_ to think where on that stupid muscled body it would look best. He doesn’t _want_ to be picturing that stupid fucking asshole naked and smooth and clean and perfect and ready for his first ink. _What do you see for me?,_ what kind of stupid fucking question is that? From a grammatical point of view, even? What do I see for you, Thor? Do you really want a fucking anus tattooed on your fucking forehead? Damn you!

 

__________________

 

Saturday night. Thor prances in with his leathers, looking the royal king of the world. His friends are already there (the hot brunette, Sif was it?, has a hot black girl on her lap, and they look really cozy), and Thor joins them, with one long, intense look in Loki’s direction. Loki clenches his jaw and clatters and stomps around, shuddering in anger.

“Hey, careful,” warns Jed, when Loki drops a stack of beer jugs in the sink with too much noise.

Loki bites back a pissy reply, and his face flushes with a mixture of embarrassment, and further anger. Never liked being scolded. Always hated letting emotions get the best of him too, and he doesn’t seem to do anything but, these days.

 

Break time. Loki makes a big point of glaring at Thor sternly as he makes his way to the back door. _My office, now_.

He only has to wait about ten seconds. He still manages to find the time to pace briskly and stew on it. Thor appears at the door, and Loki greets him with a strong shove that has Thor stumbling back (and Loki as well, a little).

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” barks Loki, “Turning up at my fucking shop like that?”

“I want a tattoo?” says Thor, trapped between the wall and Loki’s rage.

“You want a fucking tattoo? There are half a dozen places in that fucking quarter alone! What do you think this is going to get you? Huh? Huh? What do you think you’re going to achieve?”

Thor is quiet, his face calm. Makes Loki feel like a hysterical idiot. Get yourself together, dammit.

“I want a fucking explanation,” says Loki.

Thor opens his mouth.

“But think hard about what you’re going to say,” cuts Loki, stabs one finger to his chest. “Don’t give me any fucking bullshit. ”

Thor shuts his mouth again. (Yeah, good idea. An awful lot is riding on your answer, mister. If you respect me, if you’re serious at all about _things_ , now would be the time to let it show.) An audible intake of breath from Thor, for courage. (Oh, dear.)

“Okay,” he says. “Um. I’ve always liked tattoos…”

“I’m fucking out of here,” snaps Loki, walking away.

“Shit, wait a fucking second,” says Thor, snatching his arm. …And releasing it quickly when Loki glares at him.

But it worked. Loki is staying put.

“Okay. I’m listening. You have one chance.”

Thor gives him that intense look again, then looks down to his feet.

“I’ve always liked them, but I...Everybody I know seems to have one, and I just...  There was nothing I could think of that was worth having permanently inked on my skin, just for aesthetics. I didn’t just want to pick a pretty picture. What if I got bored of it? Nah. I mean, what I mean is… I wanted something that… It-it had to mean something. But I never found anything that really did, so I. I never got one. But now. Now I _do_ want one. One of yours. …Do you understand?” And he dares to meet Loki’s eyes for about a second.

Loki is frowning, in a bad state of _wot_. Because he’s pretty sure that’s not the kind of thing dudebros say to get themselves some ass, unless he’s much mistaken. So either this is some next level asshole bullshit that really redefines the concept for this generation, or Thor is trying to say something that Loki should be sitting down to hear.

“I suppose I should have said something before I came to the shop,” says Thor.

“You _think_?!” snaps Loki.

Which gets him a twitchy smile from Thor that’s quite shy and pretty fucking cute. And Thor is _not_ cute. As in, he shouldn’t smile like that. There _are_ limits.

“I’m not a words guy,” says Thor, still fascinated by his toes, “but I wanted you to know this, and this was the one way I could think of telling you.”

“Telling me. Telling me what,” repeats Loki, militantly obtuse.

“You know,” shrugs Thor, his eyes anywhere but on Loki.

Loki stares at Thor long and hard. Not sure what he’s expecting to see. A glitch in the mask, probably, the tell-tale sign that this asshole dudebro jerk is fucking with him for some reason. Because if there’s one thing on which life, and his granny, and talk shows, and women’s magazines, and the internet, and common fricking sense all agree on, is that an asshole is an asshole is an asshole, not a prince charming in disguise, and that Loki should know better than to even contemplate any other possibility.

“I don’t think this is going to get me anywhere you don’t want it to go,” adds Thor thoughtfully, since Loki doesn’t seem to have anything meaningful to bring to the conversation. He sounds more grown up now, calm and reflective. “I mean, you _know_ I want more, but… But even if this never goes anywhere… I still want your tattoo. You know what I’m saying?” And he nails Loki with a brief but pretty fucking intense and earnest look.

Loki huffs and steps away, exasperated for some reason. Shit. Not a words guy? _Not a words guy?_ Loki’s beginning to get fucking _emotional_. Because yes, that fucker here could be just lying to him outright, because he’s made a bet or because he’s bored or because he really has a thing for Loki’s ass and is willing to go to lengths of villainy and deceit not seen since the days of the actual historical Casanova to get it, but if he’s not... (well, how about that), if he’s not, this changes everything.

Hell, blinks Loki stupidly, realizing; _it already has_ . Everything that’s happened between them. This makes it _right_ . Actually, with the connection Loki experienced when they were together, it doesn’t make it right, it makes it pretty fucking _great_. And of all the things Loki might have expected to feel right now, he finds himself overcome with gratitude. He’s gawking in complete puzzlement at this beautiful, mysterious fucker, who keeps shaking the game board on him, throwing the pieces in the air, and re-setting the rules every time Loki thinks he’s beginning to find out what they’re playing at.

“You’re a real fucking asshole, you know that?” he says, but he can’t keep the fondness out of his voice entirely. It makes Thor smile from ear to ear. And man, that smile. Takes Loki’s breath away.

“Will you do it?” asks Thor, “my tattoo.”

Loki pulls out a smoke, lights it. After one long drag, without looking, he nods and walks away. Thor doesn’t follow, mercifully. Loki gets to ease his craving in peace, for what feels like the first time in weeks.

And when he gets in from his break, a few minutes and too few deep drags later, his eyes go directly to Thor, and finds him staring back, with a secret smile that makes Loki feel things. And right there and then, by the way, Loki knows what he’s going to draw for Thor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone has a better title? I accept submissions. 
> 
> (If this was in Catalan, I would have titled it "E d'Encàrrec" -encàrrec means commission).


	6. F for First

_“From: The Black Horse, Tattoo Parlor. We inform you that the design you commissioned is ready for your inspection and approval. Please find it attached to this email. Visit us at your earliest convenience to examine the full-size printed piece and discuss any changes you might want to suggest._

_Sincerely,_

_Loki Laufeyson_

_Associate Artist, The Black Horse.”_

 

“Wow. Fucking wow,” says Thor, dumbstruck.

        He left work for the studio as soon as he could once he got the email. He decided not to look at the attachment, but wait until he had the artwork in all its glory in front of him. He doesn’t regret it. There it is. Thor looks and looks and looks –there is so much to see. In true Loki style, it tricks the eye. Fan-shaped, sort of like an inverted flattened triangle, with organic, irregular edges – you might think it’s a pair of wings at first sight. Then you look more closely and the horizon reveals itself, and what you thought were feathers or something become dust on a hilly plain and clouds in a broad, open sky. The colors are so unusual for a tattoo that Thor didn’t even know they were possible: nuanced browns, greens, blues, greys, a dash of red. It all emerges from a single point at the bottom tip of the triangle, and finally you realize that you’re looking at a representation of what you see through a helmet’s visor when you’re riding on a motorbike. The effect unravels in waves or glimpses, offering more and more details the more you look, and it keeps surprising you. It’s a goddamn delight.

        Thor cannot fucking create words. It’s so much better, so much more than he had imagined. Hell, it’s what he _wanted_ , and he didn’t even know it himself! It’s as if Loki has been in his mind and worked out exactly the one thing Thor just _had_ to have inked on his skin since forever. It’s as if Loki’s read his fucking _soul_. Like he _sees_ Thor, his true heart, and can express it better than Thor ever could. There it is, the feeling Thor doesn’t have a name for, the thing he’s been longing to share with someone, the thing that… The thing he offered Loki the Sunday he took him for a ride. And Loki took it. He felt it. Look at it, as vibrant and intense and fucking meaningful as it is when Thor is on his bike, the urge to go on and on, the beauty of it, rendered in lines and shadows. Thor doesn’t have the vocabulary to articulate what he’s feeling right now. He’s never felt anything like it before. He didn’t realize he had it in him. He lifts his eyes from the drawing, turns them in astonishment towards Loki.

        “So, you like it, then,” says Loki. Whatever Thor is not able to express in words is possibly bursting out of him in other ways, because there is the most charming rosy tint on Loki’s cheeks and a vague smile on his lips, warm with pleasure and even a hint of bashfulness.

        “It’s fucking incredible,” is all Thor manages.

        “Loki is very talented,” says Svad from a few steps away.

He’s leaning on the door jamb with his huge arms crossed, and he’s been watching the whole time, with that permanent furrow on his brow. But Thor is too deep in Wondrous Fuzzyland to resent the guy for intruding on their moment. Hell, he’s actually happy that there’s someone else who can see what he’s seeing, even if it’s _him_ . Or especially him, goddammit. _Look at this, dude, look at what you could have had, behold how much you’ve lost, just fucking look at him._

        Thor takes another minute in silence for himself, to take the design in. He really wishes the right words would come, but he knows they won’t. There simply aren’t any. He gives up.

        “Where… where would it go?” he asks. “I mean, on me. Where on my body.”

        Loki gestures vaguely.

        “On the back. Kind of… it would cover the shoulder blades and run more or less down to sort of here.” His eyes are flickering shyly. It’s as if he’s afraid to be too familiar in Svad’s presence.

        Thor cannot help a smile, as he turns to give him his back. He takes off his jacket.         

        “Show me,” he tells him.

        Their eyes meet in the mirror for a moment. Loki looks away first.

        “Here to here, then down to here,” he explains, his hand hovering, barely brushing over Thor’s shirt. “Here, I’ll show you.” He grabs the design and holds it on him. They’re between two mirrors. Thor shifts to get a clearer view.

        “Is this the actual size?” asks Thor.

        “Yeah. Well, it was meant to be actual size, but seeing it on you now, I think I’d enlarge it. It would look good if it reached over the shoulders and ended sort of here.”

        Oh, man, Loki’s blushing, it’s so fucking cute. Thor is having tingles.

        “Yeah, I like that,” Thor says. “Bigger. How long will it take to complete? How many sessions.”

        “I’d say about ten, maybe twelve hours or so. Right, Svad?”

        “It depends,” says the boss, still frowny, but trying to be cavalier about it.

        “On what?” asks Thor.

        “How well you take to it. The pain, I mean,” he smirks. “The shoulders are a good place for a beginner, but this is a big design and has a lot of colorwork, and some people just don’t have it in them.” Smug asshole, probably delighted to be showing off so much of his own ink.

        “I’ll be fine,” says Thor, biting the words, feeling the challenge.

        Two pairs of glowering eyes meet in the air and crackle. They hold it there for a very loaded instant.

Svad concedes first, a grand gesture on his part. Being a professional, isn’t he?

        “Loki has a very soft touch, considering he’s just starting,” says Svad.

        “Um, Thor,” says Loki. “I’ll need help from Svad with some of the shading of the paler colors, if-if that’s alright,” he stutters, sounding apologetic and skittish as he checks with both of them.

        Thor comfortably meets the boss’ stare. After taking in Loki’s design, he’s fucking glowing with confidence about his place in Loki’s world.

        “Alright by me,” he says, with a charming smile.

        Svad nods, massive arms still crossed over the chest, inked with traditional sailor-style shields and bold, tribal-style vegetation patterns. “Yeah, sure. No problem.” He even attempts a smile.

        “Can we start now?” asks Thor. “Right now? I have a couple of hours.”

        “Take some time to think about it,” suggests Svad. “Say 48 hours, just in case you have second thoughts or ideas.”

        “Why? I don’t need it.”

        “It’s the usual. Cooling off period,” explains Loki. “Why don’t you take the print home, have a good look at it, and when you’re sure…”

        “I’m sure,” counters Thor.

        “It saves us all a headache,” insists Loki, kind of sweetly. “You might change your mind, or…”

        “I won’t.”

        Loki smiles vaguely, looking fond, but unwilling to budge. Thor sighs, unable to hide his disappointment.

        “Okay,” he concedes.

        And then he proceeds to spend the following 48 hours on fricking tenterhooks, snatching glances at the design on his phone at work, as if it was a nude or a silly kissy selfie Loki had sent him. He has the stupidest smile on his face, and everybody notices, and he doesn’t even care.

        “Anything you wish to tell me, son?” asks his dad the next day, by the coffee machine.

        “Nope.”  Certainly not when he puts it this way. But Thor’s face tells all, doesn’t it?

        “Any chance your mother and I will get to meet the lucky girl?”

        “Doubt it,” grins Thor. He picks up his coffee, gives his dad a sunny smile, and walks back to his office with the phone already in his hand, with its flashy new screensaver _and_ wallpaper.

 

        And he’s there, bang on time, for his first session on Thursday afternoon. He took time off work and everything, cashing in on filial privileges, which he rarely does, because of work ethics and such (Thor may walk and talk like a spoilt brat, but don’t let that fool you. A brat? Maybe. Spoilt? Not in your life. Good, strict Lutheran stock, him).

He buzzes the bell. Mr. Wardrobe gives him an eyebrow when he lets him in. Yeah, Thor is eager, so? _Bite me_.

        “No changes of heart, I surmise,” muses Wardrobe.

        “None whatsoever,” says Thor, grinning. He is in a wonderful mood. He even lets himself admit how fucking hot this cheating bastard is.

        And there he is, beautiful Loki, popping his face out from the back. Thor’s stomach does a cartwheel, his heart pounds harder. Damn, he has it so bad. He _loves_ it.

        “Hey,” says the light of his goddamn life, in _that voice_.

        “Hey,” says Thor, stars in his eyes, shit-eating smile on his face.

        Between them, Mr. Wardrobe is clenching his jaw and keeping his eyes low. It’s the cherry on Thor’s cake, that sour face.

        “Ready?” asks Loki.

        “Yes sir,” says Thor.

        The room at the back where the magic happens is… not what Thor expected. The space is smallish, well-lit, clean, aseptic. It’s almost like a dentist’s office, only the prints on the wall are way more hardcore, no smiling freckled kiddies biting acid-green apples and pretty teens with mouths full of colorful orthodontics. In the middle of it all, one of those chairs with buttons and levers. And this dentist’s assistant is the hottest babe Thor has ever wanted to be drilled by. He can’t take his fucking eyes off him, in those lick-of-paint black jeans and tank that shows quite a lot of his gorgeous ink, and not enough (never enough) of his creamy white skin. Thor’s thoughts must be showing on his face because Loki is flushing.

        “What do you want me to do?” he asks, with a dark note in his voice he’s sure Loki will catch on to. Yeah, the pink on Loki’s cheeks darkens a good tone and a half.

        “Um, your shirt,” he says.

        Facing Loki, and fucking loving this already, Thor takes off his suit jacket, no rush. Then his tie, a long, deliberate pull. Then the buttons of his shirt, one by one. Loki rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, cocks his hip, taps his fingers, the impatient act so cute on him. But he’s watching –oh, how he’s watching. Quick, shy flickers, stealing glimpses, as if he couldn’t take all of Thor in at once without risking consequences. Thor loses his shirt, and he sees Loki’s throat struggle for a gulp. Damn, he could do this all day. Their fingers brush when Loki gives him a hanger, and there is a fucking spark right there when they touch. What kind of Disney fuckery is going on here, it’s incredible.

        “Turn around,” instructs Loki.

        This has to be the sexiest shit that’s ever happened to Thor with his pants on. Smiling with pure delight, Thor complies, offering what he knows to be not a poor sight at all. A flash of cold as Loki rubs his back with alcohol. Then a few passes of what Thor identifies as a shaving blade.

        “Don’t even know why I bother with this,” he hears Loki grumbling behind him. “You’re smooth as a fucking child.”

        Thor smirks to Loki’s shifty stares in the mirror.

        “Okay, um. Bend over a little. Hands on the worktop. Be still.”

        “So bossy,” rumbles Thor, as he complies once more. The position is suggestive, and he doesn’t skim on the drama or the eyefucking as he adopts it.

        Loki applies the transfer paper on the top half of his back, carefully, and rubs it wet, doing a thorough job of it. Thor can spy the cutest little frown of concentration on his face. He shakes his hands then, to still them.

        “Don’t even breathe now,” warns Loki, and after an inhale, he begins to delicately peel off the transfer sheet. Thor keeps his eye on that serious little pout. If Loki pokes his tongue out, Thor will not be able to account for his actions.

Loki sighs when he’s done.

“Here, have a look,” he says.

        Thor inspects the tracery in his reflection.

        “Stunning,” he says, putting weight on the word and in his stare, aimed directly at Loki’s eyes in the mirror, to let him feel it. “A thing of beauty.”

        Loki dips his eyes, blushing like a schoolboy. His pale skin gives everything away, it’s a fucking joy.

        “Thank you,” he mumbles. “Over here.” He gestures towards the chair.

        “How do you want me?” asks Thor.

        Gah, Loki’s cheeks are fucking burning. Thor is eating it up.

        “Um, straddle the chair, facing the backrest.” Loki pushes a lever and a button, and the backrest tilts. “Lean forward. Grab on. Okay. Comfortable?”

        “Sort of,” says Thor. “Can I move my head?”

        “Yeah, but warn me first.”

        Thor’s face is turned towards where Loki will be seating. He looks different now, as he picks his tools; he’s self-assured, at ease, professional. It’s very fucking sexy. Then Loki leans closer, puts his hands on him. Thor can’t help a shudder. And because he can, a deep, rumbling hum.

        “Give it a rest already,” mutters Loki, biting his lip to refrain a grin. “Trying to work here.”

“Not sorry,” chuckles Thor.

“You fucking will be when I can’t get my lines straight.”

Thor chuckles again, because he fucking adores this kid and his disarming honesty.

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave,” he smiles.

And Loki rolls his eyes, because Thor could not suppress a wink.

“I’ll start here,” he says, all-business now. “It’s meatier, so it will hurt less.”

        “I’ll be fine,” insists Thor, cocky.

        “The first minute is the worst. Then you sort of get used to it. But tell me if you don’t.”

        “Have at it.”

        Loki starts the pedal, and Thor flinches.    

        “I haven’t even touched you yet,” chuckles Loki.

        “Fucking noise startled me,” mumbles Thor.

        Loki chuckles again, a wonderful, warm, raspy laughter, and Thor realizes he hadn’t heard it before. It leaves him speechless for a moment. Jeez, what’s happening to him?

        “I’m going to start now, okay?” says Loki.

        Thor jerks involuntarily when he feels the first bite of the needle. _Owie_.

        “Shit. Did I mess it up?”

        Loki laughs.

        “It’s okay. I started without ink. You’re fine.”

        “Stop laughing, unprofessional little shit,” grumbles Thor, but he’s smiling, and he very much would love for Loki to keep laughing pretty much forever.

        “Take a deep breath,” says Loki softly.

        Thor steals a long glimpse of Loki from up close, with Loki meeting his stare. His eyes look crystal green in this light. Thor inhales, exhales, shuts his eyes.      

        “Okay.”

       

        It sure takes some getting used to. It’s annoying rather than painful, unpleasant, with some frown-worthy, take-a-good-breath moments now and then. There’s buzzing, and other than that, silence.

        “You have cold hands,” mumbles Thor.

        “I know,” replies Loki. “I get that a lot.”

        “It’s nice.”

        “For tattoos, yeah.”

        “You know what they say,” muses Thor.

        “What?”

        “Cold hands, warm heart.”

        And Thor opens his eyes a sliver to catch the pout Loki pulls on to restrain a smile. Thor’s own smile takes over his entire face.

 

        “Need a break?” asks Loki after a while. He’s stopped.

Thor thought he’d been doing a good job at hiding the growing discomfort. He’s been trying to focus on his breathing and making a conscious effort at relaxing his muscles, but yeah, fuck, for the last couple of minutes, this has been hurting one hell of a lot, and he can’t help a sigh of relief now that the needle is off. He rolls his shoulders a little.

        “The spine is…” he mumbles.

        “Yeah. Sensitive. We can leave it here,” says Loki.

        “No, I’m cool,” he quickly says.

        “It’s not a pissing contest, Thor,” says Loki. “You’re allowed to admit you actually experience pain. Even grown-ass manly men have nerve endings, you know.”

Thor smirks like a champ.

“Nerve-endings, eh? You know a lot about those?”

        Before Loki can answer (and what a fucking shame, that little smirk and that glint in Loki’s eye was promising), Mr. Wardrobe appears at the door.

        “Alright?”

        Miffed at the interruption, Thor turns his face away.

        “No problems,” he says. “Carry on a bit more. I’m okay.”

        “Call me if you need me, Lo,” says Svad.

        “Will do,” says Loki.

And if he’s noticed the clench in Thor’s jaw when he heard that pet name, or how Thor is still chewing on it a few minutes later, he doesn’t show it. (Lo. I mean, _Lo_. What the shitty fuck nickname is that. It’s Mr. Laufeyson to you, double-dealing back-stabbing lying fucker!)

      Loki leans closer, his warmth all over Thor’s back, the delicate touch of his latex-gloved hands. Thor can smell him. And he can hear him. Loki’s breathing is shallow. In no time at all, in spite of the bite of the needle, Thor finds himself resting on a nice, plump, pulsing semi. With his eyes closed, he presses slightly on it with a minute shift of his hips.

        “You have stupidly perfect skin,” mumbles Loki.

        “Thanks,” says Thor. “So do you.”

        Buzzing. Loki’s clothes brushing on Thor’s side. Then warm skin -that tank is a really low cut. Thor pushes down on the chair, on his throbbing, hardening cock. He turns his face, and Loki’s right there, his lips thin with concentration. Then he senses Thor’s stare and his attention flickers, his eyes meet Thor’s. He has stopped. So close. There is a fluster on Loki’s face, an almost imperceptible sheen of sweat that glimmers when he turns his face a tad, and his pupils… Fuck, Loki’s feeling it too.

        “Loki,” Thor rumbles, and inches closer.

        Loki pulls back.

        “We stop here,” he says, cutting. “It’s a good place to leave it.” And he retreats a good foot and a half away – or his body does; the rest of him retreats several miles. He turns his attention to the little table with his needles and ink.

        The wiping, the cleaning, and the disinfecting are performed in a perfunctory, coldly professional manner.

        “I want to see it before you cover it,” says Thor, when Loki was preparing the gauze.

Loki puts down the gauze and holds a hand mirror up for Thor to check the tattoo in the bigger mirror on the wall. He seems nervous.

        “The swelling and redness should be gone by morning,” says Loki.

The portion of the skin that’s been done does look pretty red and angry, spots of blood here and there. It’s a strange, heady feeling. Even though this is Loki’s job, and even though millions of people get tattoos every day, Thor just got marked for life by this one guy just here, and it feels pretty goddamn special to him. He turns his face to Loki, dares him to look up.

“So I guess you popped my cherry,” says Thor. “Ever done it before? Put a first tattoo on someone?”

Loki gets busy preparing the gauze, edgy movements, and flustered.

“So? Had you?” insists Thor.

“No. You’re my first. Happy now? Turn the fuck around, need to cover it.”

Thor smirks and complies, delighted with Loki’s choice of words. He’s horny and he’s in love and he’s fucking bursting at the seams with it.       

        “There, you’re done,” says Loki after a moment.

       Thor gets up, and when Loki passes him the hanger with his shirt, Thor grabs his hand. After a second, Loki dares to look up. His eyes dip to Thor’s lips, and that’s all the invitation Thor needs. He reels him in, and Loki gives in to it. Thor takes a second to feel him close before he kisses him. Loki makes a hushed little breathy sound, and he parts his lips to let Thor’s tongue in. Thor groans into it, pressing his body against him, his semi returning from a very light rest, finding Loki’s just there. Jesus _Christ_ , can one fucking die from this. Thor tongue-fucks him deeply, wanting to swallow him whole, hands on Loki’s butt, pressing their hips together. Loki sighs like a swooning maiden, and damn, Thor’s forgotten where they are and who’s around and he so fucking wants him.

Then Loki pulls away. Thor fights it at first, but when Loki pushes him off, Thor lets him go. He opens his eyes to see Loki come to with a nervous blink, and skittishly checking the door. Then Loki disentangles entirely and walks away, rubbing the blush off his mouth, and Thor’s kiss with it. Thor clenches his fists and his jaw.

        “You don’t owe him shit, you know,” he grumbles, in a huff, as he throws his shirt on and starts buttoning up, no teasing this time.

        “I know,” mutters Loki. His back is turned to him, and he’s moving things around as if he was tidying up, though Thor is pretty sure he’s just trying to look busy.

“Then why do you fucking care what he thinks,” snaps Thor. “You’re very talented. I’m sure that any joint in town…”

        “I’m not doing this for him,” cuts Loki. “I’m doing this for me. I don’t want him to walk in on us because then we’ll have to have a conversation. And I don’t feel like talking right now.”

        “To him, or to me?”

        “Actually, both.”

It doesn’t sit well with Thor, being lumped in the same sack as the Cheating Boss.

        “Loki…” he starts, no idea what he’s going to say.

        “Your jacket,” says Loki, handing it over. “I’ll give you a printout with the aftercare instructions outside. We take credit cards.”

       

 

* * *

 

 

        He has finally managed to pack Thor away, and Loki can finally breathe. He clearly hasn’t done enough of it in the last couple hours. Hell, in the last couple of days. He had hoped Thor would like the design. He had been confident. But he hadn’t been prepared for the utterly open, almost childish look on his face when he saw it. Like a little boy. Like a little boy meeting his idol, actually. No reserve and no guile and no shame, just bright, shiny adoration. Yeah, that had felt pretty special. Loki wouldn’t had seen it coming from that cool, suave asshole in a million years. Perhaps neither had Thor himself. All in all, not like your everyday commission work at all.

And then today, man. That was intense. He rubs his eyes. He’s got a fricking headache. Can it be from sustaining a hard-on for the last hour? Yes siree, he’d sported a nice, hard, throbbing, straining erection at all times as he worked on Thor’s back. That glorious, sculptural, marble-smooth back, which was unmarred and spotless and virginal, and from now on, and forever and ever, will bear the mark of Loki’s hands and imagination.

Listen, it’s not his first original commission, it’s not the first time he inks a lover. This should not have felt this... This _much_. But damn, he had been all but moaning several times, with Thor panting beneath him, tense, sucking in a breath under his needle, shuddering and trying to keep still and take it like a man, putting all sorts of indecent notions on Loki’s mind. He’d been so very nearly unprofessional several times. And had Svad not been in the room next door… Fuck, he needs a very cool shower right now. And with all that brazen eyesex, he feels like he should be paying the clinic a visit, just in case.

 

        He snaps out of it when he notices his boss-stroke-former-alpha and omega north south east and west standing there, leaning on the door jamb, staring.

        “You’re fucking him, aren’t you,” he says.

        Loki exhales tiredly. Can he get a break now, please. He pushes past him to get to his things, avoiding his eyes.

        “Loki, wait.”

        He does. He always does.

        “What,” he mutters.

Svad takes a moment.

        “I just wanted to say. It’s an amazing design,” he says, hesitant. Maybe he meant to say something else and thought better of it at the last second. “You’re so talented, baby. And you’ve come so far so quickly. I’m proud of you.”

        Loki nods, with a burn in his throat. He starts to walk away again.

        “I never meant for it to happen like this. I never meant to hurt you,” whispers Svad, out of the blue.

        Loki’s eyes are welling up. He’s frozen into place.

        “I should have told you about her from the start, but I... I just... I was sort of living the fantasy that it was just you and me, and at first it was innocent and fun and I thought there was nothing wrong about it, and I said to myself, where’s the harm, but then it happened, and we got in it deeper and deeper, and I got myself in such a lot of shit, and I knew you would hate me for it, but I couldn’t stop, because I was in love with you, baby, and…”

        “Svad.”

        “You have to believe me, Loki, everything I said to you, everything I told you, what I feel for you, that’s no lie, baby, it’s all true. I know what I did is awful, but I did it because... Because I fucked up, but I couldn’t help myself, baby. What I feel for you-”

        “God, stop,” begs Loki, voice threadbare. Deep breaths. “Why are you telling me this?”

        Svad rubs his beautiful face hard, shakes his dark mane of hair.

        “I can’t fucking stand the thought of you not knowing. Thinking I took advantage of you. I mean, I know I did, but…”

        “Why now,” cuts Loki. “Because of Thor?” he challenges.

        Svad looks away, guilty as sin, and he’s like a grumpy, cuddly bear that Loki loved so fucking much, once upon a time. He sighs tiredly.

        “This needs to stop,” he says slowly.

        “What?”

        “This. I know you want to hear yourself say all of this but I…” Deep, deep breaths. He really sucks at this kind of thing. “I c-can’t listen to it. I d-don’t want to. You and me, it’s-it’s over, and…”

        “What about last week?” cuts Svad.

        “Last week was a mistake,” says Loki. “I-I can’t do this. With you. I mean I... I don’t. Want to do this anymore.”

        Loki almost stumbles back from the stare Svad levels him with.

        “Whoa,” says Svad, petting his lush black hipster beard. He gives him a bitter, broken smile that cuts like glass. “He’s really got to you, hasn’t he?”

        Loki feels anger surging inside.

        “This has nothing to do with Thor. This is about _me_.” He pats his chest for emphasis. (And could his voice not fucking tremble right now? He’s trying to make a goddamn point!) “I… I felt everything for you. I wanted everything with you. But I don’t anymore. I can’t. After all that’s happened. And it’s got nothing to do with Thor, or with anyone. It’s got nothing to do with anyone but me. Understand?”

        At least he’s managed to keep the stutter to a minimum, even if his voice keeps breaking on him, and his eyes are stinging as if sprayed with lemon juice. Svad has on that noble, grave, forlorn expression.

        “I need you to b-back off,” says Loki. “You and me. We’re done. So don’t-don’t call me baby. I’m your employee and...And you need to-to respect that. Please. Or-or I will have to leave.” Saying that just shaved a good seven years of Loki’s life expectancy. “Do you need me to leave?”        

        “Do you need to leave?”

        “I’m asking _you_ ,” says Loki. “Please give me a clear, direct fucking answer, for once!”

        Svad’s eyes, and his shoulders, and his spirits all fall. Everything seems to come tumbling down. A deep sigh.

        “I don’t need you to leave,” he mutters. “You’re a good worker, a huge help, and a great artist. I’ll deal with… with this. Okay?” He looks up now, those gorgeous brown eyes. “Friends?”

        “Boss and employee,” amends Loki, in a tiny voice. “For now at least.”

        “Work colleagues then,” offers Svad, along with his hand. “Yeah?”

        They shake on it, and Loki has a little moment when Svad hands enfold his, warm, dry, delightfully rough. He knows this touch so well. It used to feel so good to him.

        He walks away now, and he never turns to look at Svad. Best decision he’s made in months, for sure.

        He goes to the back room to tidy up, and after a few moments, when he manages to lift his chin, he realizes he’s feeling several inches taller.

  

       

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> formatting all over the place for some reason. never mind.
> 
> also, Ctopey beta'd this, but then I was mucking about with it extensively, so god knows.
> 
> and special thanks to Darklittlestories for checking on the tattooing process for me, and for suggesting a couple of really cute things i totally added, like Loki starting without ink. Thank you Stories <3


	7. G for Gloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It’s not a comfortable silence. I mean, Thor seems comfortable enough, sure, but Loki is all fidgety. What just happened? What’s going on? Because there’s been a change here, hasn’t it? An evolution. The whole tattoo thing, and the session the other day… He feels like they should be talking about it. About something. The things that have been said, the things that… What the fuck is this? What is Loki doing here? He doesn’t really know what it means, after what Thor said the other day. And what does it mean to Loki? Does he even want it to mean anything?"
> 
> (Yes, too lazy to think of a summary so you get a preview. Problem?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow drip in the updates. Everything is being worked on little by little, progress is being made, if only in little bits, and nobody is abandoning any wips here. Please bear with me.

 

It might just be the post orgasmic-induced haze, but Loki feels like he doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing. Right now, or with his life, or… You know, in general. Not a clue. His life is out of control. His feelings. His actions. He’s been rolling from one thing to another for the last year like a boat adrift in the middle of the ocean, not once feeling like he had a handle on the situation, on where he was going. And now the current has dragged him here, and he has no fucking idea how that happened.

Well, that’s not entirely true, is it? It’s Saturday night – Biker Gang night. And after the inking session earlier this week, Loki would be a damn hypocrite if he said that he wasn’t somehow expecting how the evening unfolded. Jeebus, Thor looked so fucking good tonight – so fucking good. It’s not like that’s an uncommon occurrence, but man, he seemed to be glowing or something. How doesn’t he get arrested for public indecency every time he walks out of the house dressed in those leathers? And then he was smiling the way he does, and laughing with his mates, and throwing Loki those looks, and Loki was reacting like he used to in the beginning when he didn’t have a clue what Thor was about, even though Loki now knows perfectly well what Thor is about, and he just… Damn. Then from the bar he’d seen Thor lift his fucking shirt (pass the salts Miss Cunningham) and he was showing off his unfinished tattoo, and then the biker gang called Loki up to the table to praise his work, and Loki was blushing and preening like a schoolboy and handing out business cards, and Thor said “Looks like you’ll have a full portfolio earlier than you thought,” and he was still staring like a wolf, but a proud, proprietary wolf, generously lending him out or something, and why was that such an insanely hot thought, and Loki was fucking creaming his pants, such a horny slut for that asshole.

So when Thor appeared after they shut up shop, and approached calmly and full of purpose, like a big cat on the prowl, in control, Loki’s knees had been wobbling like fucking jelly. Oh, the moment just before their lips touched, Thor’s eyes giving off heat, every square inch of Loki’s skin like… like sunflowers or something, turning towards the source of all light and… Oh, he had caught a bad case of the poetries, considering he’d spent the following ten minutes or so pressed against his car riding Thor’s leg, making out like crazed animals, Loki whimpering and begging to be taken right there on the hood of his old Fiesta, with Thor’s mouth and tongue doing wonderful things to his lips and neck and ears, squeezing and massaging his butt, or teasing him mercilessly, holding him still and away, milking his desperation with the shittiest possible grin on his very beautiful, very smug face. But Thor had whispered into his ear, “come to mine”, and yes, sure, okay, whatever. As long as the night ended with the wild fucking he was gagging for, Loki would go wherever he was told.

And here he is now, at Thor’s. A pretty condo in a nice part of town, furnished with the basics. Thor is clearly not into interior design much, but still, there in pride of place is the print of Loki’s tattoo, nicely framed and all. Not that Loki has had much of a chance to see the apartment as of yet. Nonetheless, he can probably guestimate the threadcount of Thor’s bed linen. He’s had ample opportunity to examine it in depth, during the approximately twenty minutes he’s been had on his hands and knees, and then crushed on his front, as well as drooling on the sheets a little. ...With Thor’s sounds in his ear, those gruff, exuberant, unabashed manly moans, the heavy breathing. God fucking dammit, but he’s _good_ . Loki appreciates sensual build-ups, sophisticated set-ups, teasing and subtlety and variety in the sack. He does, honestly. But he just fucking _loves_ to be pounded into the mattress by that beast of the wild until his brain pours out of his ears. (And with their fingers threaded together, that’s a new development.)

In sum, he’ll need a moment or ten to recover the use of his senses, and even more to feel secure putting weight on his knees. It’s okay, he’s not going anywhere tonight. Or is he? Thor hasn’t said anything about it (he hasn’t said much all night, period), but does he expect Loki to fuck off now? Can’t really take it for granted, that he’s invited to stay. Not with his previous experience of the guy.

 

This open-plan single-space shit looks good on the page of a magazine, but it’s not so great in real life: Loki can hear Thor piss in fucking Dolby surround. That’s not too terrible, but what about when…? Yeah, gods, doors exist for a fucking reason, don’t they? And walls.

Thor returns, naked, animal, a trembling, humping lump of fresh beef.

“Wet wipes in the drawer,” he informs.

“All the mod cons,” mumbles Loki, turning on his side to have a rumage. He does need to clean up, and he can’t stand on his feet yet.

Thor slips into bed and stretches with a happy groan, sprawling in all directions. He lets his eyes droop. Going to sleep? Still hasn’t said anything about what he expects Loki to do now. And Loki tugs at the bedcovers and slips his legs underneath. He suddenly feels a bit… exposed, sitting there naked, back against the Ikea Malm headboard, white oak finish.

It’s not a comfortable silence. I mean, Thor seems comfortable enough, sure, but Loki is all fidgety. What just happened? What’s going on? Because there’s been a change here, hasn’t it? An evolution. The whole tattoo thing, and the session the other day… He feels like they should be talking about it. About _something_. The things that have been said, the things that… What the fuck is this? What is Loki doing here? He doesn’t really know what it means, after what Thor said the other day. And what does it mean to Loki? Does he even want it to mean anything? Goddammit, somebody fucking say something.

“What it is?” Thor rumbles (he’s either reading Loki’s mind, screaming in distress, or he’s noticed his fidgeting).

“This was unexpected,” says Loki. A very poor attempt at conveying the breadth and depth of his thoughts.

“Unexpected how?”

“I wasn’t planning on this.”

“Hm,” says Thor (hums, rather), with no particular expression that Loki can use to help him discern what the frick-frack-paddy-whack does he mean by “hm”.

Does Thor sort of guess what Loki’s getting at, at all? Does he care? A long silence follows, and Loki is really not good at those.

“I mean, it was great, really, but I just…” he waffles. And he thinks he should try and get to the point, he really thinks that. It’s what grownups do, they face shit up. But he can’t bring it up. He doesn’t want to ask the tricky questions right now. He’s not sure he’s ready for the answers, whatever they may be. And he’s such a fucking coward with the heavy issues. He’d rather just hide under the covers and hope they weren’t that important after all, and that they just fucking go away if he shows them he’s not interested.

Thor is lying on his back, hands threaded on his smooth, muscled belly, silent, eyes turned to Loki.

“You’re not a big talker, are you?” grumbles Loki.

“What do you want me to say?”

Uh. Something. Anything. What is this. What are you fucking thinking. God, so goddamn _typical_.

“I don’t know,” he grumbles after some time, disappointed in himself and the situation.

Another long silence.

“You could ask me about my day,” suggests Loki, sarcastic (not altogether).

“Do you want to talk about your day?”

“Not particularly.”

“So?” says Thor.

“It shows interest,” says Loki, though he feels like banging his head against a taciturn, blond, muscled, asshole brick wall.

“Oh, I’m interested,” purrs Thor, turning on his side to nuzzle into Loki’s hip. “You need me to prove how interested I am?”

“That’s not what…” (A very, very bricky brick wall.) He sighs. “Nevermind”

Thor’s lips feel nice though.

“That woman we bumped into in the elevator, the one with eyes like dinner plates,” muses Loki.

Thor chuckles.

“To be fair, my tongue was pretty deep down your throat when she bumped into us,” he says between kisses, laughter in his voice.

“You’ve dated her, haven’t you.”

“I don’t date,” says Thor, kissing, nipping.

“You’ve fucked her then.”

“I’ve lived here for a couple of years,” is Thor’s non-sequitur of an answer.

“And she didn’t know you fuck men,” guesses Loki.

“Topic never came up,” says Thor.

“So you _did_ talk with her, then.”

Thor throws him a squinty look, catching on the pissy tone.

“What are you getting at?” he says.

You know what, Loki has no idea. No idea. Did he come to this place for a chat? For Thor’s fascinating insight into notions of philosophy and art? To discuss modern history and economics? For the banter? ...Precisely. So what the actual fuck is Loki getting at with this whole absurd so-called conversation.

“Nothing,” he says, and turns on his side; to reach for his phone on the bedside table and pretend to be doing something, and to hide his face from Thor.

Only then he feels one fingertip tracing patterns on his skin. And that would be Thor, exploring Loki’s tattoo.

“What’s this supposed to be exactly?” he asks, tracing, tracing, Loki’s skin rippling with the tickles. “A tree? A snake?”

“Both,” says Loki, between a squirm and a shudder. It’s very pleasant. _Very_ pleasant. And that tattoo might just be one of Loki’s favourite topics of conversation in the whole wide world. He mumbles his answer with words slurred by delight. “It’s the tree of the world, with all the living things in it, and the snake that devours its roots for eternity. But the snake and the roots are one and the same. Growth and death, chaos and harmony, entwined forever, growing from each other and attempting to destroy each other.”

A quiet moment with only the brush of Thor’s fingers as he keeps tracing the ink, from Loki’s neck, all down his back, into his side, over his hip, caressing his ass, indenting in his crotch, and down his thigh.

“Deep,” he says. (Is he being sarcastic too? …Damn, who cares. If you say so, mate. Loki’s brain is slowly liquefying with his touch.) “You drew it, right?”

“Yes.”

“...It’s fucking gorgeous.”

Ah, it always stuns him a little, straight up nice words from Thor.

“Thank you.”

Thor keeps tracing, tracing.

“Did your boss do the inking?” he asks.

Hm. If Loki was a cat, he’d be whipping his tail now. Where are we going with this, young man?

“Yeah. I couldn’t have afforded it otherwise”.

“Does it make you think of him?”

Shit, Thor. Can’t do small talk, can you? Just the tough questions.

“I don’t know,” dodges Loki.

Thor is delaying on the area on Loki’s hip, where it branches into the ass and the crotch. Loki might just be able to guess what he’s thinking. That Loki would have had to have his pants down, or off, to get that part done. Indeedy, that was a thing that happened. Oh, did it happen, alright.

They had started innocently enough with the neck area. (Except for Loki nothing was innocent then, because he had the almighty hots for his irresistibly attractive boss, and his heart did all sorts of things just hearing him ready the fucking supplies to ink him, and just taking his t-shirt off with Svad around put notions in his mind and gave him palpitations.) And the lower they got, session after session, the trickier it all became (Not talking about the design, though there’s that too). The glint in Svad’s eyes, the frown, was it just concentration? Was it totally professional? That hand delaying there for just a second too long, what was that about? Was it about anything? Was Loki being really _that_ funny with his jokes to break the tension, or was Svad a little nervous too, all those silly giggles? And those comments, every now and then, “good skin for inking”, Svad would muse, that gruff, husky voice. “Did you design that one too?” he would ask without meeting Loki’s eyes, referring to the rose-maze on the inside of Loki’s thigh. So, he had seen it. Had he been _looking_? Was Loki going completely fucking insane here, or was the hottest guy he had ever spoken too actually, maybe, a little bit interested?

Aaaaand they got to the hip area. Time for Loki to pull his pants down and lie on his side with nothing but a flimsy towel to cover his modesty (could Svad hear his heartbeat hammering? And what is more, was that a touch of color on Svad’s dark skin?) Svad would lean closer for the fine detail, and his face would be hovering only a few inches away from Loki’s crotch, and oh good god almighty, had it not been for the bite of the needle, especially on the hip, shooting pain up his nerves and dragging his thoughts away from _things (_ albeit kicking and screaming), that flimsy towel would have had to do double duty. But still, that glint of sweat on Svad’s forehead, that pinch of his lip, and was Loki hallucinating or were his pupils dilated…?

And oh my god, that day, that glorious day; Loki had been on his back, pants down, towel on, and Svad was leaning close, working on the roots that curl close to the groin, and Loki was breathing hard and Svad would ask does it hurt a lot and Loki said I’m fine, not in pain, and their eyes had met, and yeah I’m saying what you think I’m saying boss, what are you going to do about that? And then the phone rang, and Svad had to stand up to get it, and there were no comfy baggy printed bermuda slacks that could hide That Boner. He’d seen Svad discreetly adjusting himself as he walked to the phone and… Oh, gods in heaven, Loki was treading on air. His feelings were reciprocated! (His pants feelings at the very least… That was good enough for starters. He doesn’t ask much from life, honest he doesn’t.)

And Svad put down the phone and his eyes were shifty, but their gazes still met for a flickering second, and they both had _known_. Loki wanted to squeal. Professional that he was, Svad finished the job while Loki laid on his back feeling like instead of a stretcher he was floating on cotton candy. Aphrodisiac cotton candy. Life was wonderful and everything would be alright.

Nothing had happened that day. Nothing had happened for the next two weeks. Well, nothing, if you discount the long, heavy stares, the complicit moments, the hands that brushed when passing something, the big paws that lingered on Loki’s shoulder, and squeezed. Why wouldn’t Svad kiss him? Why? And Svad being the boss and all, it’s not like Loki felt at ease just taking the first step. What if he was getting it all wrong? Way to ruin the work environment. And was that why Svad was holding back? Or was it because Loki was hallucinating everything?

Loki’s next session. He started to pull down his pants, Svad handed him the towel, their fingers touched, their eyes met, and… And let’s just say no progress was made on Loki’s tattoo that day. Ah, the bittersweet memories.

So anyway, yeah, Svad is deeply enmeshed in every twist of that inky treesnake clinging to Loki’s body. And he will be forever.

“Do you regret it?” asks Thor in a mumble. “That he’s the one who put it there.” (He has traded fingers for lips, soft brushes that bristle with his whiskers and beard, little kisses that are entirely too sweet. Loki’s skin immediately pebbles and ripples with a shiver.)

With his eyes closed and his body given away entirely to that sensual exploration, Loki rambles.

“If somebody had popped up at that time offering to magically remove it, I would have said yes,” he confesses. “It hurt to even think about it. But now I’m happy I’ve got it.”

Thor is still brushing his mouth on his skin, but the silence feels laden and thick all of a sudden with his thoughts.

“I had worked on this design for years, perfecting it and re-drawing it, checking my progress as an artist as I improved it,” elaborates Loki, still in a dozy rumble, “I had wanted it done for an eternity. It was important to me. And yeah, Svad put it there. He existed in my life. It’s what it is, and regret won’t change that.”

Thor’s stopped kissing, but he’s not going anywhere, and his breath is so hot.

“But it’s not something you choose, is it, to feel regret or not to feel it. You just do,” he observes sagely.

“Well, I don’t,” whispers Loki. And it’s the truth, how about that! “He… he meant a lot to me. He… He marked me, in more ways than that. It’s what it is.”

Another one of those heavy silences.

“I’ll never regret mine, you know,” says Thor. “No matter what.”

Loki opens his eyes, which had closed with all those kisses, and meets Thor’s blue, intent gaze. There is absolutely no hesitation in there, no doubt. It’s as if Thor is speaking from some time in the future, like he’s already been there and seen it. He just sounds certain. What must it be like to be so clear about things?

Loki has felt so… worthless for such a long time. Since he can remember, really. He has always struggled to make friends, and he felt invisible in school, without consequence, part of the background. Not just to the popular crowd, but to anyone – kids and teachers, family even. And he couldn’t understand why. What was so wrong with him? He knew dozens of people arguably just as anodyne and dull as he, but somehow, they always seemed to find their group. Not him. And he… had qualities? Cool, distinctive talents and virtues that should at least have garnered him some attention? He was already good at drawing back then, and he did it all the time, and people would say “wow!”, and “did you draw this?” and for a moment, just a moment, Loki thought he had established a beachhead, that somebody had noticed him, that he would have a chance at a real, meaningful friendship now. But nothing ever came of it. Everybody moved on. He had some mates, sure, but nobody he really cared about, or that really cared about him, and when school ended they were disbanded, and he’d never heard from them again. It was like… Like Loki wasn’t able to leave a mark, like nobody wanted him to make a difference in their lives. He feared he would live out his time and then vanish without a trace. That’s what twenty-year-old him would fret about when he couldn’t sleep at night. He just couldn’t see a future where he mattered to someone — really mattered. And then Svad appeared. And Svad cared. He said he did. He said such wonderful things. It was Loki’s wildest dreams come true.

Some rude awakening that had been. He’d felt as… God, he still struggles to find words for what that felt like, realizing it was all a lie. Perhaps not a _total_ lie but — But just enough of it. Just enough of it. From his wildest dreams come true, to his worst nightmare come to pass. No, he did _not_ get to care and be cared for as he needed after all. No, he did _not_ get to stay in someone’s life. No, he wasn’t good enough, special enough, important enough.

And now this. Thor. Why is this gorgeous asshole looking at him like this now? Why does Thor think so much of him? Why? What has changed between past Loki and present Loki, why is he getting _this_ , this unexpected, bold, impetuous offer, when he couldn’t even dream of it before?

“Why,” he asks indeed.

And Thor must sense there is a grave edge to that question, something with deep roots, the way he’s looking at him.

“Want to hear me say it?” he rumbles, his breath scalding hot against the skin of Loki’s hip.

Say what? Say _it_?  Is he going to use the L word on him? God. That’s… that’s too fucking much, surely. Thor looks intense, grave even. And Loki doesn’t fucking know. He doesn’t fucking know. Is he for fucking real? ...Fuck, no, he’s not ready to hear it.

Thankfully, Thor doesn’t say it. With his eyes still fixed on Loki like they’re magnetized or something, Thor starts to slither up, skins touching, until their faces are level. They roll and lay side by side, eyes still locked on each other. With one hand on Loki’s butt, Thor pulls him near, Loki’s thigh around his hip, long legs tangled together, glued together. Thor’s big hand feels his butt slowly, leisurely, like they have all the time in the world. He only breaks the stare to make sweet tender love to Loki’s neck. Shit, if the sex is pretty much mindblowing without foreplay, how is Loki fucking expected to survive _this_?

Is that Thor’s way of saying what he hasn’t spoken out loud? Slowly and generously and sensually, he’s telling Loki that...

Over Thor’s shoulder, he catches a glimpse of the incomplete tattoo. Which Loki put there. Which will stay there forever. Which Thor wanted so badly. Which Thor claims he’ll never regret having put on, because _Loki_.

Goodness. _God_.

Loki strokes the healing skin with his fingertips.

“Are you proud?” rumbles Thor against his neck. “You should be. It’s a work of art.”

Proud? Is that what this is? Nah, doubt it. I mean, maybe, a little. It’s a good design, if he’s allowed to say so himself; extraordinary, even; he humbly thinks he’s fulfilled the client’s briefing, such as it was, and he’s done it really well, even exceeding the client’s expectations. And the inking so far is really neat and self-assured, and yeah, overall, if he doesn’t fuck up, this will be a job to be proud of.

But that’s not all there is to it, is there? Far, far from it.

There’s Thor’s blue gaze again, as if they were trying to burn a hole in his skull. So focused. On little old him. Like there’s nothing else in the world right now that matters. He’s… he’s ferocious, ravenous, the beast of the end of days wanting to swallow the sun because it was made for him, for this moment, since it all began. Shit, Loki’s head is spinning...

He pulls apart. Thor’s gentle hand keeps stroking his hip, his side. It’s such a warm, tender touch. Oh god, what the fuck. When Loki looks at him again, Thor’s beauty fucking overwhelms him. They’re kissing before he knows it. It’s gooood. And he can never get enough of making Thor sound like that. More. More of everything. Much, much more. All of it.

“Roll on your front,” Loki mutters.

Thor obeys, offering Loki a breathtaking landscape, rolling hills of muscle. He’s un-fucking-real. And the one single thing disrupting the vast expanse of golden skin is Loki’s ink. _His mark_ , as Thor seems to think of it, judging from how he talked about Loki’s tattoo. It’s kind of… much. How many people must this outstanding specimen have fucked in his life? How many have wanted him, loved him, wished they could keep him? And yet when Thor got to Loki, he was like… A virgin canvas. Nobody had left their imprint on him. He had wanted each and every lover to slip off his skin, their touch to dissolve, their memory to wash off his body leaving no traces. But now he’s asked this from Loki, _this_ . Loki touches it, the intricate inkwork he designed and buried there under Thor’s skin. He kisses it with his eyes closed. His. _Mine_ . Like Svad never was, never wanted to be, not really. But Thor does. He wants to be. _Thor wants to be his_.

_I’ll never regret mine, no matter what._

Whoa.

Loki kisses his mark, he kisses that skin he owns and will forever own in a way, a little. He nuzzles against it, he brushes his lips on it, he licks it.

Thor sighs softly, he relaxes into it. Dimples in his shoulder blades, and the ridge of his back suddenly deepening as he shifts and arches under his touch, muscles rippling. “Hmmm…” He’s the most beautiful fucking thing Loki has ever seen, and he’s _his_.

“Ah, Loki…” he sighs as Loki’s lips begin to descend, following the sensitive ridge of Thor’s back. He’s buried his face in the pillow and his body snakes as he slowly dry humps the mattress.

Loki gets to the tailbone, Thor whips his head around to look over his shoulder. He looks fucking wrecked, eyes glazed, he’s panting. Loki’s never seen him like that. It’s spectacular.

 _Mine too. All mine_ , chants Loki inside, as he parts those mighty buttocks, dips his head, and begins to eat him out. He wants to think Thor’s never had this done before either. He gives it everything he’s got. Thor presents his ass and trembles, and how he holds onto the pillow, how he whimpers as the tip of Loki’s pinky dips in to open him up for his tongue.

“Loki… Loki…”

Loki’s got his thumb there now, pressing rhythmically right on the magic spot. Thor makes sobbing sounds and grinds his hips down on the mattress. Loki could do this for ever, but when Thor reaches underneath himself, he lets him. He keeps licking and fingering, now fucking in and out with his thumb gently too, while Thor whimpers and sobs and shudders, and then moans with what feels like a pretty good orgasm. He is breathing heavily with his face buried in the pillow, ribs swelling as he pants. Gorgeous. Loki starts to jack himself.

After a moment, Thor comes to his senses, and hears him. He rolls on his back, framing Loki between his thighs, eyes drilling him, urging him on. Loki jerks faster. Thor strokes Loki’s thighs, his fingertips dig deeper as Loki speeds up and starts to shudder. And the polite thing is to cup his hand around his dick and not make a godawful mess but, but Thor’s eyes… Loki comes over Thor’s chest and stomach, painting him with long white ropes of seed. And Thor touches the come on his skin like he wants it to sink below it.

Panting, Loki contemplates his work. Marked him, again. Marked him some more.

 

When Loki’s back from the bathroom, Thor says “stay.” It feels like it’s as big a deal for Thor as it is for him.

 

Spooning. Loki loves spooning. He loves being little spoon to a big fucking bear of a man, sitting on his lap, on his slumbering dick, surrounded by strong, possessive arms. He can’t resist the blissfulness. He submits.

But then he finds he cannot sleep, and what is worse, now that all the sexy brain juices have run, and that his sense is returning, all he can feel is anxiety, and dread, and a strange, dull, empty sadness.

What is this? What the fuck are they doing? Does he really care about Thor at all, or is it just being wanted that’s drawing Loki into it? And how serious is Thor? Can Loki trust him, can he open up? What is more, should he? Thor is an emotional child. So, he has feelings for Loki, wow. But can he fucking handle them? And does Loki have the time, energy and oomph to teach this troglodyte how to boyfriend?

The sex is amazing, the connection is there, but... But shouldn’t Loki be taking space and time to sort things out? He’s rushed into this like he rushed into the other thing. He’s rushing into things with Mr. One Night Stand, Mr. Fuck’em and Leave’em. Mr. Doesn’t Date, Mr. Sometimes Really Want To Fuck An Ass, So Fucks Gays. What the hell happened to Thor the Massive Asshole?

Let’s be fucking realistic here, Thor the Massive Asshole hasn’t gone anywhere. Beneath the golden shell and the sexual charisma is an immature, half-formed man-child who’s not going to know what to do with Loki, beyond looking at him _like_ _that_ , and fucking him _like_ _that_ , and all those little things he does that… that feel great, sure, but at the end of the day… A tiger doesn’t change his stripes, and an asshole doesn’t suddenly become Mr. Right. And should this kind of thing really happen in real life, Loki shouldn’t count what he has seen so far as actual proof of change. Thor is infatuated, and that doesn’t happen to him often, and he’s being a darling, true, but the rest of it all still stands, and when the infatuation dwindles… And why should it not dwindle? Thor is bound to get bored eventually. Don’t they all? They don’t do long-term. They prefer the new flavors. And as nice as it feels to believe Loki is so extraordinarily awesome that he has actually made a miracle happen, and that his kiss released the prince under the spell of the Asshole Toad, let’s be realistic here, shall we? Loki is not that awesome. Hey, it’s not self-pity this time. It’s just… _Nobody_ is that awesome.

Loki wished he could just embrace the now and enjoy the moment — he really wants to. Yet another bloody thing that doesn’t happen just because you wish it to.

 

____________________________

 

There’s a Loki-shaped absence in his bed when Thor opens his eyes the next morning. He snaps awake with a start. Then a noise in the bathroom. _Sigh_. He stretches, groaning happily. He slept like a child.

Loki appears, towel around his waist, hair wet, glowing, such a vision.

“Hey,” he says softly, that wonderful big-cat-purring voice of his.

“Hey,” rumbles Thor, rolling over and reaching for him.

Loki dodges his touch, grabs his pants, and starts dressing. Disappointed, erection at half-mast already, and feeling all tingly, Thor creeps closer, exposing himself. Loki’s eyes flick to him and then away. He seems… twitchy, shifty, like he’s got stuff on his mind.

“You okay?”

“I’ve been thinking,” says Loki sharply, almost as if it burst out of him. “We need to… This thing… Shit.” He rubs the pinch of skin between his eyes, shoulders sagging. “Listen, we should stop. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what.”

“The — the sex.”

“ _What_?” snaps Thor sitting up, a sinking, plunging hole in his stomach.

“I can finish your tattoo,” continues Loki calmly, “or you can go someplace else. I’ll release the design to whatever artist you choose. No hard feelings. But we can’t… We can’t keep this going. It’s a bad idea.”

“But… Why?” pleads Thor.

Loki sighs deeply, with a hint of a choke there. “Because it is.”

Thor sits there looking blank, shocked. It does not fucking compute. Loki wants him. Like, really fucking wants him. Like ‘can’t control himself when Thor is around’ kind of wants him. And the sex is out of this fucking world, and the connection is electrifying, and this is definitely something special, he has fucking felt it, so what the fuck is this about now?

Thor grabs his neck and reels him in to kiss him. It’s all he can think of doing right now.

“No, Thor!” cries Loki, shaking him off, furious. “I… I just fucking told you!”

Thor stares blankly again.

“But you want it,” he states. And it’s obvious. Look at this lovely fluster.

“Yeah, I want lots of things that are not good for me. I don’t want… This. I think I do but. But I don’t. That’s not what I want. Okay? I’m not letting my dick doing the deciding anymore. It can only handle about two variables, and that’s nowhere near enough variables, and...”

Thor must look stupid now with big round eyes and a complete lack of comprehension. What the hell is Loki on about? He’s thinking too fucking much and complicating everything and basically he’s making no fucking sense.

“Why… don’t you want this?”

Loki sighs deeply. He’s still avoiding Thor’s eyes.

“Because I’m not ready to get involved,” mutters Loki. “I’m not ready to let this turn into something complicated. You and me, Thor… I just don’t think it will work. We’re rushing into this. I’m being stupid. I don’t want to be stupid and get hurt again.”

“I don’t want to hurt you!” protests Thor, irritated that he even needs to spell it out.

“Thor…” sighs Loki, as if Thor is being the crazy one here. And it’s getting on Thor’s tits, all that sighing. But now is not the time to lose his temper, he needs to… He needs to fucking try. Shit, feeling words. He’s really no good at this.

“Loki… I realize we sort of stumbled into this and neither of us was looking for it… But now that’s happened… Dammit, Loki, what we have… We have something special!”

“Oh my god, yeah, so special. We’ve had orgasms. So rare, those.”

It’s like an arrow through Thor’s heart.

“That’s not what I mean!” he bellows. And Loki flinches — calm down, idiot. “That’s not all. You know it’s not,” he says softly.

Loki’s eyes, so green and huge, full of compassion. Make Thor want to slap him, actually. Don’t… fucking pity me, goddammit.

“Listen, Thor,” Loki begins softly. “You _think_ it’s special, but it’s really… It’s nothing, okay? You know nothing about me, I know practically nothing about you, and what I know, frankly, is not too promising. So we… we’re sexually compatible, and sex with you is great, sure, but… But that’s not what I need right now. Okay? I need… I don’t know, exactly, but I’ve been pretty badly hurt and I need to get myself back on my feet, and dating you is possibly the worst fucking idea ever.”

“But… But why…!” And only a few years back, Thor would have stomped his foot in a tantrum.

“Because I’m clearly desperate for love, and you’re going to… If I give you my fucking heart, Thor, especially in the condition it is right now, you’re going to fucking trample it and tear me to pieces. Okay? You don’t have the fucking… mental and emotional maturity to be of any fucking support to me right now.”

Those words have landed on Thor like the emotional equivalent of a fucking grand piano dropped from the rooftop of a building.

He needs a long moment, but eventually he drags himself out of the wreckage, because this fucking _matters_.

“I’m not fucking with you, okay?” he insists. “And I can tell the fucking difference between a dick crush and. And this. Can’t you? I’m not asking lightly. Okay? I mean what I say. …I may not, uh. I mean. I’m not stupid. And I really, uh. I care, okay? I may not have had a bazillion relationships but. I want to. I want to be with you.”

Loki stares for a long time, and for a moment, Thor dares to hope that…

Loki lowers his eyes and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

He gets up, grabs his t-shirt, and goes fishing for socks and shoes. Thor sits through the entire exercise of Loki getting dressed staring into space, unable to comprehend what just happened.

He thinks Loki hovers by the door for a second, but when he recovers enough from his pain and stupor and his trampled pride and turns to check, the door is closed shut.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't pity them so much. Right now I'd pay good money to have this assholes' problems. Especially Loki's, dammit.


	8. H for Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor doesn't take rejection well, to the surprise of absolutely no-one.
> 
> “Whatever. Like, fuck him, right? Plenty more fish in the sea. And it’s not like I was looking for something steady with anyone anyway. And I didn’t even ask, not really. More like floated the idea. I don’t fucking know what I was thinking of. It was a stupid idea in the first place. I’m glad he said no, actually. I mean, who fucking wants this kind of deal anyway? Just one headache after another, right? So anyway, no big deal. Forget it. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m relieved. Like, imagine if he’d said yes. Yeah, no, nuh-huh. Caught a break there. It was a close one. I got lucky, believe me. Just... Fuck this.”

“Hey, what’s the matter with you tonight?” asks Sif.

It’s not just her. Everybody has noticed Thor’s strange mood, quiet, grumpy, tense. It’s only that she has the balls to ask.

“Nothing,” he grumbles. “You playing or not?”

Not that his mind is into the game much either. Good job they play for cents this evening, or Thor would be losing big time. It’s impossible to focus with Loki hovering around. Loki hovering around, being so fucking polite and professional, and cold as hell. Like nothing ever fucking happened. Like he doesn’t fucking care, and never has. Several times that evening, Thor is about to explode a beer jar with his hand, he’s gripping that tight. He wants to be as casual and detached and above and beyond as Loki is. He fails spectacularly. But Loki pretends he doesn’t notice. He won’t even give him that. Well, fine, fuck him. Thor will _not_ be ogling his ass as Loki duly does his hovering. Or the slice of belly when he stretches his arm to reach for the bottles over his head. He won't notice how fucking pretty he looks even when smiling to asshole customers without feeling it. It's not that Thor is hurt, it's not that. It's like... He's angry, okay? Like, who does Loki think he is, treating him like... like he was just _anyone_?

There are a couple of chicks two tables over, giving him looks and giggling, two pieces of hot ass in tight cut-off jeans and tank tops with plunging necklines, looking for a fun night out with a biker hunk. Well, if that doesn't teach Loki what he's passed on, and how very much Thor doesn't care... Yeah, you should call Loki over right now and say, "Get these chicks a beer, on me." Then let the girls pretend they can't play pool so you can rub yourself all over their ass while you pretend to be correcting the angle of the cue, flirt and have some fucking fun, get that sour taste off your mouth. Take them both home, in front of Loki's face. Man, that would feel so good. Rub his nose right in it. Look at what you're missing, asshole. You know what I'm gonna be doing all night, and here's some visuals for you. How's _your_ Saturday night looking, sweetheart?

...Hours pass, two college boys sit with the chicks. Thor knows he could still just walk in there and take them home. But somehow he can't find the oomph. He's just not in the mood tonight. Long week. (And the nagging fear that Loki would be in the back somewhere while Thor was attempting to make his grand exit, not giving a shit about what Thor does or fails to do.) 

 

 

“Come on, spill,” says Sif when they’re in the parking lot, helmet in hand, ready to leave. “What’s up your ass?”

Thor doesn’t want to talk about it. But at the same time, it seems so fucking ridiculous that he… hell, that he’s so affected that he doesn’t fucking want to talk about it. He’s tougher than that. He’s not that affected. He isn’t. Okay? And he’ll prove it. He’ll say it out loud, and he won’t mince his words either.

“Loki dumped me.” There, as brutal as it gets.

“I didn’t know you were actually dating,” says Sif.

Shit, he thought he was over the worst part, but no, there’s more.

“Well, I was trying to,” he admits, between his teeth, with a considerable effort. “He said no.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Whatever. Like, fuck him, right? Plenty more fish in the sea. And it’s not like I was looking for something steady with anyone anyway. And I didn’t even ask, not really. More like floated the idea. I don’t fucking know what I was thinking of. It was a stupid idea in the first place. I’m glad he said no, actually. I mean, who fucking wants this kind of deal anyway? Just one headache after another, right? So anyway, no big deal. Forget it. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m relieved. Like, imagine if he’d said yes. Yeah, no, nuh-huh. Caught a break there. It was a close one. I got lucky, believe me. Just... Fuck this.”

No, he did _not_ have the balls to look her in the eye while he said any of that. He might have been able to with Volstagg or Fandral, but Sif? Not a chance.

“So what happens to the tattoo now?” she asks.

“No idea.”

“Is he going to finish it or…?”

“I said I have no fucking idea.”

“Yo, big boy, I know this thing is hard on you, but mind your tone with me.”

Inhale. Exhale.

“It’s not fucking hard on me,” he says, tone simmering with all the calm he's not fucking feeling, but trying to pretend. “It’s nothing. Okay? It’s… It’s been a long time since I even considered it and it stings that… Like I said, it was a stupid idea. Hurts my pride, is all. Nobody likes to hear… Anyway.” He owns that because for once it’s preferable to owning the rest.

“Tell you what,” says Sif, completely different tone, “some asshole hurt my baby.”

“Who?”

“No idea, or you could identify him easily by his lack of left ball. Look.” She points at a tiny scratch on the body, a hair-thin crack breaking the sleek black finish.

“Son of a bitch,” says Thor in solidarity. “Well, it’s fixable.”

“Yeah. I was gonna have a go tomorrow.”

“Why not Volstagg? Oh, right, beach holidays.”

“Precisely. I could wait but…”

“Nah, don’t. If rust gets to it…”

“My thoughts exactly. Wanna come round mine tomorrow and lend me a hand? It’s just gonna be an emergency patch up, but I liked how you did your Z that one time. Remember? When we were at the coast?”

“Sure. But I thought you said you had plans with Val tomorrow?”

“I said romantic dinner,” she says. “I’m saying you come around in the afternoon for a beer.”

“Right. Okay, why not.” He adds thoughtfully, “It’s going good for you guys, eh?”

Does she have any idea how terribly she's failing at keeping her usually stony face?

“Yeah. She’s incredible.” She's gone for matter-of-fact. Not fooling anyone, Siffy.

“Where did the aro bit of pan-aro go?”

“I never said it was a religion,” she snaps.

“So, you’re in love with her?” Such a strange thought. Good old Sif, with feelings?

“...I don’t know,” she mutters. “I just enjoy being around her a lot and we always have a whale of a time together. And the sex is mindblowing. Is that love?”

“You’re fucking asking _me_?”

She laughs.

“Okay big boy. See you tomorrow at 3?”

“Fine.”

“Bring a six-pack.”

“I always do.”

 

________________________

 

They’re at Sif’s and they have tended to the scratch as lovingly as if it was a knee scrape on a beloved little child. Then they take apart some things and clean them up, just because they enjoy each other’s company. They work in silence for a while. All they need to communicate is a grunt or a word from time to time.

It’s nice with Sif, always has been. They’re alike. _Compatible._  He thinks once more how easy it would be with her. It’s not like they have not had mind-blowing sex together too. ...But there is something missing, of course, always has been. Something she’s never wanted to bring to the table. And he used to think what a pity it was, but now he sees it: he never wanted that with her either, not really, he just thought it was convenient. They’re friends, that’s how they’re good together. And if you tried to make it into something else, you’d find something’s missing, something Thor feels in every bone in his body when he’s around Loki. Loki, who basically told him he’s a child and a jerk and too lame to fucking _boyfriend_. Damn him. Who does he think he is? Some shining example of a man with balanced, grown up feelings there, still pining for his cheating boss.

...Is that what Thor is against then? Is this Svad guy the perfection to beat? Well fuck them both, _fuck them._ He was offering something good and…

“Some dark clouds you have hovering over your head right now, big boy,” comments Sif, bending low to polish under the body.

Grunt.

“Thinking about Loki?”

“That jerk, yeah.”

“Aw, why is he a jerk?”

“Oh, you don’t know what he told me.”

“I’m all ears.” She's crouching by the body of the bike, busy reaching beneath to get to the nooks and crannies. 

It's not like he can't recall the actual words. They're pretty much seared in his thoughts, like branded with a red hot poker. He has turned and tossed every painful tongue-lashing in his mind for days. His throat seems to close when he thinks about it. Speaking it out is not easy, even if he felt like it. 

It helps a little that she seems to be focusing mainly on something that's sticking by the wheel. Her frown of concentration doesn't change a bit when he starts spilling his guts (it's how it fucking feels.)

“He said that...That dating me was a terrible idea. That I wasn’t good for him.” 

“In what way? Did he say?”

He rubs his hands obsessively with a dirty rag. He's getting oil and grease all over them, and he isn't even noticing.

“He was saying that-that he wasn’t ready to get hurt again. That I would trample his heart or whatever. Me! I mean, his last boyfriend forgot to tell him about his fucking wife and kids. How the hell am I going to _hurt him like that again_? I’m not a lying cheating backstabbing son-of-a-bitch like his bastard boss! And he told me… Basically I had just told him I was in love with him, and he said something like I was hallucinating it? Like I thought it was special but isn’t? That… He fucking told me that all it was between us was sex! And he was fucking lying through his teeth okay, because I can tell when somebody is having an orgasm, or when they’re experiencing a moment of emotional connection, okay? How fucking dare he say that…” Huff. Double huff. More huff. And rubbing his hands raw. “He was the one who started this, okay? He’s the one who… I mean, I was just gonna fuck him, but the way he threw his all in it… Like he was begging for it to matter. And now I tell him that it does, that it matters to me, a lot, and he tells me… Ugh!!”

“Calm the hell down.”

…Deep breaths. Bit shaky. Did she notice?

“What else.”

“He said that he was letting his dick make the decisions. That he was _clearly_ desperate for love right now. _Clearly_. Like he'd take anything he could get, even _me_. Because that's all I am, right? A dick decision." Oh, that one stung very bad, for some reason. "And that I would break his heart to pieces. That I don’t have the-the maturity to handle him or whatever, emotionally. Can you fucking believe this? I’m thirty-two fucking years old, and he’s what, twenty-four or something. And I’m immature…?”

“It’s true that you haven’t had a lot of experience with relationships,” she says.

“Neither has he!” protests Thor. “And when he does, he goes and gets himself involved with a guy that…”

“Did Loki know the guy was married when they started seeing each other?”

“ _Seeing_ each other? Hah! They got it on in the fucking backroom of the boss’s shop, that’s what they did, that’s what their wonderful and emotionally fulfilling relationship was all about. I mean, like, Loki said it himself? That they never even spent the night together? And I can’t fucking beat that? At least I’ve fucking taken him to my place! And let him sleep over! I was going to make him fucking breakfast and all! And still for Loki I’m no better than…”

“Okay, first of all, you don’t have to beat anything. Okay? You’re not in competition with the cheating boss. That’s not how it works, not what it’s about." She's been reinforcing her words with solemn gesturing of her wrench. "Don’t fucking grunt at me, Thor, doesn’t make you look very mature. Or, you know, like a person. Did he say anything else?”

Deeeeeep breaths.

“He said... That we don't really know each other. He said we were rushing into it. That he wasn’t ready to get involved. That I’m not what he needs right now. That he needs time to… I don’t fucking know.”

“That he needs time to heal,” completes Sif.

“I guess,” Thor grumbles.

“Was he very hung up on his boss?”

Thor says it because he wants to hear it out loud, because what are scabs for if not for picking at them. (Not that this particular wound has even scabbed.)

“Love of his life, Loki said.”

The look Sif gives him now, the tilt of her eyebrows, _oh poor you_.

“If that what he’s fucking into,” he grunts. He's so fucking embarrassed, wearing his heart on his sleeve. “Lying assholes who like to take advantage of their employees and don’t have the basic decency to…”

“Yeah, I get it,” cuts Sif. "Well, at least he didn't just give you the old _it's not you, it's me_ ," she says, as she stands up, dusting her knees. She ignores Thor's scowl. She's had years to become immunitised.

He could leave it at that. He had something in his gut, and now it's out. His best friend offered an ear and a shoulder to cry on. Not the first time Thor has needed one, certainly not the last. That should fucking do it. Now they go get hammered, and tomorrow is another day. (Well, he goes to get hammered, Sif has a special date. And if Thor isn't a liiiittle bit jealous right now...) Yeah, we get angry over things. We get drunk over things. We carry on as men, older and grumpier. We certainly don't... ask our best friends for help. We don't fucking ask for advice on  _matters of the heart_ , Jesus. What the fuck is this, Oprah?

But shit. When all else is gone... He wants Loki so bad. Not even talking sex right now. He _wants_ him. Wants Loki to be his. He just… Ugh!

“I don’t know what to do,” he mutters. “Like, a huge part of me just wants to go, fuck him. If he can’t even give me a chance, then he can totally go fuck himself. Because I... I mean I went to him honestly and... And he basically told me I wasn’t good enough for him, and man, from what I’ve seen so far Loki is a bottom feeder, so where does that fucking leave me? So yeah, I really want to just… Slam the door on it and just move on. I don’t fucking need this shit." Deep, miserable sigh. "But the other part…” He rubs his eyes, his face. God, it hurts. He can’t even contemplate it. Giving up on Loki. Being without Loki. Seriously? Like, for real? For ever? His stomach goes all funny, like it's turned to rock. “Sif, what do I do?”

She’s leaning on the bike, rubbing her hands with a dirty rag that used to be a college t-shirt. She does that thing she sometimes does when she’s thinking, like she’s rolling something in her mouth.

“Okay, so he’s trying to look after himself, and I think that’s clever of him. He invested a lot into that thing with his boss, only to have it thrown in his face. So yeah, I get that he’s hurt, and he’s wary. Which tells me what? That he cares a lot about you.”

Thor frowns. What?

“If he didn’t give a shit, what would he be trying to protect himself from? He’d just fuck you some more until the itch was scratched, and then send you packing,” she explains. “But he can’t do that, because he has feelings, and he’s afraid of feelings right now. So there. There is hope for you yet, my child. However, and that’s a big however, he’s totally right about one thing. You barely know each other. No, don’t fucking look at me like that. Where is he from? Does he have siblings? How does he take his coffee? Favourite song? Favourite film? Winter or summer? Cats or dogs? Pepsi or coke or don’t give a fuck? Yeah, exactly. You don’t have a clue. And that’s all pretty basic stuff. And he doesn’t know much about you either, does he? Because so far you’ve been just bonking, which is great for a bonking-based relationship, but if you want to take it beyond that… Hell, you guys need to sit and talk.”

“But how? If he won’t even…”

“Calm down, big guy. Have you actually asked him?”

“Asked what?”

“ _Loki, do you want to have a coffee with me some day?_ ”

“Yes I fucking did!” exclaims Thor. “And you know what he told me? That I was good for one thing, and it wasn’t coffee.” It’s still fucking sore.

Sif smirks. She’s always liked sass in people. Thor prefers the smirk to the pity look, but still.

“Well, ask again. But make it clear what it’s about.” She faked a gruff voice. “ _Loki, I would like to get to know you better. I’d like us to go out for coffee some day, sit down and talk, absolutely no sex._ ”

“What?”

“No sex. Not until you’ve found out if there is really anything else there besides the fucking.”

“No sex?” repeats Thor, like he’s saying ‘no oxygen?’

“No sex. You take him out, you court him, you spend time together, away from the bedroom. And away from the house in general. And the car. _And_ the fucking bike too, Thor, I know you. No cheating. Show Loki you’re for real, that this is not just a dickfatuation. That you’re in it for more than his ass. If you’re for real about it, then… be for real about it! Listen to him, get to know him, fall in love with _all_ of him. Go for him like the entire human being that he is! And I fucking guarantee he’s going to like that about you a whole lot. Okay?”

Thor leans against the wall, arms crossed sullenly, deep skeptical frown on.

“But you have to listen to what he said too. Listen to what he needs right now, and respect it.”

“What do you mean?”

“If he needs time and space, you give him that. Let him breathe, don’t push him. Let him know you’re still interested, and be constant, but not overbearing. Let him set the pace.”

Thor rolls his eyes.

“That’s going to take for fucking ever.”

She laughs out loud.

“So you fucking wait for ever. You say he’s worth it, don’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. I can also guarantee that you being a stalking, pushy pain in the ass is the fastest way to scare him off and lose him for good. Show him you care about what he wants and needs more than what _you_ want and need, and you’ll see it works like fucking magic. You know he’s attracted to you. Show him there’s even more to love. Be his Well-Hung Knight in Shining Armour, there for him, to support him and look after him while he figures things out and heals. Be to him what his boss never was.”

That has Thor thinking for real now. He's beginning to see the sense in it. And that last thing about the boss… Hells yeah.

Then an awful thought.

“But what if…? Nevermind.” Too embarrassing.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve known you since we were still in diapers, and I have had my fingers up your ass, I think you can tell me whatever it is that’s on your mind.”

Thor huffs, uncrosses his arms to stuff his hands deep in his pockets.

“What if-if we go out together, and we sit down to talk, and-and he doesn’t…" Huffy huff. Shit, can he just write it down or something? In the littlest voice ever since his balls dropped, "What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Then you back off and leave him in peace,” she says, just like that. 

Oh, that has Thor almost tearing up. So much so, Sif feels the need to try to cheer him up. How pathetic he must look.

“But hey, you’re a fun guy, a decent man in your own way, loyal and kind when you think it’s deserved, you’re sweet, you have that childish side that’s very cute, and the wild side that’s really sexy… And you _do_ fuck like a porn star. Why wouldn’t he like you?”

He shrugs.

“I’m not… I mean, he’s into artsy types, right? I can’t talk about art or… I don’t know.”

“Sweetheart,” says Sif, shaking her head. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend, the cockiest fucker in town? If I needed any more proof of how fucking special this Loki is, there we have it!”

For the first time that day, Thor cracks a smile.

“And maybe he likes films, and music,” she says. “You can talk about that, right?”

He shrugs, his self-confidence in tatters. Sigh.

“He is, though,” he mutters, cheeks burning. “Loki, I mean.”

“Is what.”

“Special.”

She smiles so wide. She’s about to fucking hug him, isn’t she? He grabs two bottles from the bucket beside them and hands her one (more like puts it in her face). She shakes her head like he’s got him all sussed out, which she does.

“To special people,” she toasts.

“Amen.” He drinks.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you get the extremely cluedupness on bike stuff up there? Mechanical genius, me. No, no research involved. And no fucks given either.


	9. I for Insisting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor has a plan. Not a lot of patience, but indeed, there's a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They do say "finished" is better than "perfect". Well I'm at a point, after not being able to write anything at all for what feels like eons, that I think "anything" is better than "nothing", so, sorry about that.
> 
> (and here's me, who used to want to bash self-deprecating writers for their defeatist attitudes. ACT POSITIVE DAMMIT, SELL YOUR STUFF!!)
> 
> ok, try again
> 
> I LIKE THE BIT AT THE END, STICK WITH ME UNTIL THAT PART, IT'S A GOOD PART, i mean, NOT THE WRITING SO MUCH BUT THE THING YOU KNOW? IT'S KINDA CUTE, MAKES FUZZIEST INSIDE
> 
> (there, an attempt was made)

 

_Item 1: Be Better than Cheating Boss_

_# Well-hung Knight in shiny armour (_ _very_ _well hung)_

_Item 2: Loki’s Needs over My Needs_

_# Time and Space_

_# Constant — Not Pushy!!_

_Item 3: Talking — Get To Know Each Other (films, music)_

_# No sex (!!) (how long?!?!!!)_

_Item 4:_ _Get Loki (sex with Loki) (dating)_

_Keep Loki!!_

 

You have a kid’s handwriting, dude, thinks Thor, noticing the rounded letters and careful tracing. He hadn’t really paid attention to it before - his own handwriting, that is - but he’s had this note in front of his face so many times this last couple of weeks that he sometimes has to make an effort to focus and see the actual words.

It really is a disorganized mess. He didn’t think about it much when he scribbled it down. He was just climbing the walls in his flat after his chat with Sif the other Sunday, her words of advice starting to blur and mix up, and he told himself dude, sit down, fucking _chill_. And there you go, an outline. Ideas, clear and stark. A plan of action. He stuck it on the fridge. And he felt a lot, lot better.

And the next morning, he folded it up and slipped it in his pocket right before leaving for work. And he’s kept the note on himself ever since, traveling from pocket to pocket. The corners are showing some serious wear and tear, there’s a coffee stain or two on it, the white has acquired a brown patina, like it’s aged. Makes it look more important somehow.

He’s read it enough times he can not only remember it but also visualize it clearly in his mind; still, he likes to carry it around like an amulet, something to turn to, something he can feel, whenever this waiting around business feels very much like doing nothing.

Repeat with me, dude: you’re not doing _nothing_. This is a carefully laid plan. There is a schedule and a calendar. There is a countdown. You’re crossing off days. Loki said he needed time, so Thor is giving him Time, that’s what he’s doing. It’s hard, and he doesn’t like it, but he’s definitely _not_ just sitting on his ass watching Loki slip away. He’s getting somewhere with this. He’s being clever. He just needs to have a little more patience, just a little bit more, and he’s there. Remember what Sif said: Loki’s Needs before your own, so that Loki will think you’re amazing. -One Month’s Time, to be exact. Thor has not consulted Sif about the timescale; he suspects she might advise to wait even longer. And Thor is going to fucking die from wisdom and prudence here, so yeah, if you’re not going to like the answer, better not ask. One month. One entire month. Four weekends, four Saturday nights. And one inking session.

He knew it was going to be hard, and it is. So, so hard. As in, inking session in two hours, and it doesn’t feel like the two weekends he’s already been through have helped him prepare much for that.

Thor unfolds the note and lays it in front of him, and goes through every point in a mental mumble, and then folds it again, sticks in the pocket of his suit jacket, checks his watch. Two more hours here, and then it’s off to The Black Horse. And tonight he’ll cross off another day on the calendar. You’re almost there, come on.

 

_________________

 

“I didn’t think you’d be coming,” comments Loki casually over the whirr of the needle.

“I didn’t cancel, did I?” mutters Thor, his words slurred. After leaning forwards on the tilted backrest of the seat for over an hour now, no talking, he had fallen into a light stupor; the prick of the needle does bite hard now and again, but not enough to keep his mind from wandering; he’s not sleeping much these days.

“I guess not,” says Loki, just a whisper. He carries on.

Thor shuts his eyes and wishes he could read into Loki’s voice, but he can’t, so he’ll just focus on the warmth of his body close to him, and the few passing touches of a soft latex glove every now and then. Inappropriate, sure, but what the hell do you want. Let him have the crumbs at least.

Yeah, crumbs is all he’s getting. And even that is debatable. Loki is good at pretending indifference, detachment, total casualness. Or so Thor is praying. That he’s faking those, that is. At the bar Loki is polite and professional, the same mild smile for everyone, the same hardness in his stare. He is quick and efficient by now, not the clumsy, stumbling, nervous little thing he once was. Bambi Loki was cute, Experienced Pro Loki is very fucking sexy. Thor tries to stop his eyes from following him around like those of a forlorn puppy, but he doesn’t always manage. His friends notice he’s still quiet. Sif nods at him across the table with compassion, and she pats his shoulder before they go their separate ways in the night.

But they’re in close quarters now, and Loki is not so casual. Thor totally caught that little flinch, Loki straightening up and tensing his shoulders when Thor appeared at the parlor’s door. And then Loki looked down and proceeded with the professional act, and he sounds the part, sure, but he’s sooo shifty. He can’t look at Thor for any longer than a blink or two. And Thor tried to make it businesslike when he took off his clothes, Loki tried to make it businesslike when he took them. But the energy is not professional in the least. And Thor decides this is reassuring, because he’s an optimist at heart. Just twelve more days.

“I was always going to come,” says Thor. “For the session.”

Loki says nothing. A long silence, only the buzz of the needle between them.

“It’s your design. Don’t want anyone else to do it.”

Loki still says nothing. And his silence gets on Thor’s nerves, and before he knows it…

“And what I said about it, it still…”

Loki huffs with irritation. Thor wants to slap himself. You _moron_! He shuts his big fat mouth, takes a deep breath, visualizes the calendar in his mind. He’s about to cross out another day. Don’t fuck up now.

 

_______________

 

 

Thor just left. He never said another word, apart from thanks and good bye. Loki cleans up, but his mind wanders.

Svad walks in. Through a dark squint, he has watched Thor pay and leave

“Something the matter?” he says.

“Huh? …No. ‘M fine.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Don’t,” snaps Loki, not in the mood for that shit.

Svad puts his hands up. “Sorry.”

Loki sighs. Svad looks thoughtfully.

“Take the rest of the day off,” he says.

Loki stares, suspicious.

“Go on. I’ll sort this out. You look tired.”

Loki very nearly asks ‘but I still get paid right?’ He doesn’t. So tired all of a sudden from all that tension with Thor. Right now, he’s stopped giving a fuck about rent.

“I am,” he admits.

“Well, then?” says Svad, and that jaw-splitting, blinding smile reminds Loki why he put up with his shit for four months and would have kept on doing it gladly. “Go put your feet up somewhere.”

 

He runs a bath when he gets home. The bath is tiny, he has to keep his knees up if he wants to get his hair wet. He tries to let the hot water do its thing, but he can’t stop thinking. What the actual everflowering fuck is Thor up to? This whole Perfect Gentleman shit is beginning to creep Loki out. Like, first Saturday night after the Serious _No_ Talk (a “No” on which Loki has been to-ing and fro-ing all week, as in, whenever he put his well-pleased derrière down and is reminded of what Thor is capable of, he questioned it). Thor had been correct, cordial, amiable, and left a precise 10% tip. He did look a bit somber, not at all his loud, cocky, sunshiny asshole self, but the scowl from the previous week was gone. True, Loki was trying hard to keep his eyes away and his attention otherwise engaged, lest his resolve should falter, so maybe Thor was blowing raspberries or whatever the moment Loki turned his back, but. It’s just. Not what Loki was expecting.

What was Loki expecting? Well, to be fair, he never would have imagined Thor would take no for an answer. He probably realized all he needed to do to make Loki re-think his life and his choices was flex some biceps, or shake his cascade of golden locks, or (god forbid) lift his shirt to show off his new tattoo. Intellectually and spiritually, Loki was fully resolved to Not Let Himself Go Down That Path, but dicks are hardly known for their common sense, are they? And as for their spirit, they have one of their own, and Loki’s at least is one Stubborn, Pushy Little Bitch. And quite restless whenever it detects Thor’s proximity. Hell, Thor’s disembodied presence in Loki’s thoughts already gives him plenty of trouble. He’s pretty fucking helpless, always has been (or has Thor forgotten how freaking easy it was to get Loki to spread his legs for him that very first night?). So why isn’t Thor just… pushing it?

No means no, right? He should be kinda proud that his Class A Asshole is not an asshole all the way after all. ( _His_ Asshole. Not anymore… Sigh.) So, Thor has principles. He has ears, connected to a brain, and to a minimum sense of decency. To Loki’s huge dismay, because it was his assholery which told Loki he needed to get away from him as far as he could and never look back? …So if Thor is _not_ a total asshole, does it mean Loki is allowed to...?

 _No_ , goddammit. He needs to Be Alone. He needs to work through his issues, he needs to mend and grow and all that, and he can’t do it while whimpering and sobbing into a pillow with Thor’s dick up his ass. It just doesn’t work like that. He needs to be strong, resist, endure, refuse temptation, walk on by.

…And it looks like Thor is lending a hand here. And Loki… doesn’t like it. Or does he? As in, hey, thank you, dude, it’s good to know I’m not getting my knickers in a triple twist over a totally garbage human being. Not like Loki chose him (Thor sort of overcame him, like an avalanche), but he doesn’t want to regret what’s gone down between them, and Thor acting with respect and generosity surely goes a long way towards that end.

But also… crap? Loki really, really meant it, everything he told Thor. He wasn’t playing games, he wasn’t strategizing. But he sort of kinda expected a teeny tiny little bit that it wouldn’t be that easy. That Thor would keep trying, and Loki would keep stumbling merrily and orgasmically upon the same rock again and again, whoops. That he’d have another chance or ten to beat himself up over his weakness. That Thor would actually stay away when asked to do so never fucking crossed Loki’s mind.

Loki’s eyes wandered at will this afternoon over that glorious assemblage of flesh that is Thor’s torso, remembering all the while how it feels to have it pressed against him, and to watch it flex and hump and bulge as it ruts, and god fucking dammit. He could have had it all. His whole body is screaming with what it knows to be true, on an animalistic, primeval level. His mark, his domain. _Mine_. His to touch, his to snuggle up to for warmth, his to…

He doesn’t want to be that guy. He wants to be a grown up. To be clear and consistent and fair. Not to play with Thor’s feelings, or his own. He really wants to. But he wants so much besides, and therein lies the danger.

Loki, you said no. And no it is. Your body is a dumb stupid animal, sure, but the rest of you has to live everywhere the animal doesn’t live and carry the consequences of its choices. So taming the animal it is.

 

 

It’s Saturday night and Thor looks edgy, impatient; he bounces his leg and taps his cards and rattles his beer and looks and looks away and looks again. Loki is on edge too. Something’s afoot, right? (Tiny squee.)

Break time.

“ _Harrumph_.”

Loki turns around. Of course, it’s Thor, hands in his pockets, tentative little grin on his face.

“Hey,” he says.

Oh dear, thinks Loki.

“What,” is what he says. How very abrupt. But it doesn’t faze Thor.

“I-I wanted to talk to you.”

Oh dear oh dear. Loki clears his throat.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please, hear me out,” insists Thor, stepping forward, threatening with crowding Loki against his car, and noticing, and realizing, and putting his hands up in appeasement, and stepping back. Then he says softly, “Please.”

Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Those blazing blue eyes, so earnest and imploring; they have liquefying powers surely. You better get this over and done with before you become a fucking puddle, Loki-pokey.

“What.”

Thor’s entire demeanor changes, his face brightens up. And then his shoulders hunch up, insecure. _Harrumph_ again.

“Right. Uh. I-I wanted you to know that. Uh. What you said. I mean. Uh.” (He checks discretely the palm of his hand, which is shaking a bit. And Loki nearly dies right there and then. Did the big blond beefcake make a fucking cheat sheet on the palm of his hand? Is that what you’re fricking telling him? Damn, Loki is going to die from the cute. With half an eye constantly shifting to the palm of his hand, Thor tries again.) “I mean. I wanted you to know that, that I listened to you the other day. That I get that you need time for…” (Thor squints and brings his hand one inch closer to his face -is he even fucking trying? I mean...), “time for healing, and that it’s fine with me. It’s fine. But-but I don’t want to just… walk away and let this slide, because” (he mumbles now) “ _you mean a lot to me and_ ” (normal voice again) “and I think we could be good together. And you’re right, we don’t know each other much, but-but we could. Get to know each other I mean.” (Squint, checks his palm, which Loki is beginning to suspect is now full of blurs and smudges from nervous sweating, bless). “In your own time,” adds Thor. “When you’re ready.” _Harrumph_. (One last look at his cheat sheet.) “Uh, that-that was all I wanted to say.”

Loki is smiling. He can’t bloody help it. But his smile falls soon. He sighs.

“That’s very nice, Thor,” he says flatly. “I appreciate that.”

Thor is frowning, hanging onto every word, trying to decipher what comes next. Yes or no. Why must Loki always complicate everything so much, huh? Sigh.

“I really appreciate the feeling, and intentions are great and all, but you know and I know how this would end.”

“How?”

“You and me in the sack in under five minutes. And that’s the road to perdition for me, because…”

“No!” interrupts Thor. “I mean, we could, you know, take it easy.”

“Easy?”

“Yeah, take it slow.”

“I’m afraid that ship has well and truly sailed, my friend.”

“We could backpedal a bit.”

“I’m almost scared to ask, but, what do you mean by that?”

“We could, I don’t know, we could go on a proper date. For coffee. To a proper place. Sitting down and all. And see how it goes.”

“Thor…”

“Please. We could have a rule. No sex. Just hanging out. Spend time together, in the daytime, in public spaces, talking.”

Loki can’t help the skeptical tone.

“Is this what you really want, seriously?”

“I like hanging out with you,” says Thor quickly. “I think I would anyway. Get to know you more. Couldn’t we do that?”

Loki rolls his eyes white, incredulous.

“Listen,” says Thor. Inhale, exhale. “I heard you, okay? What you said. I was listening. I paid attention, and I thought about it a lot. I get that your faith in mankind is not at its all-time high, I get that you might not feel like putting yourself out there again so soon, and I get that - that you don’t trust me much. And I know you think I don’t know what I’m feeling. But you’re wrong. Okay? I’m not a complete moron. When I say I care, I fucking mean it. And I’m a nice guy, I swear. I’m fun, so I’ve been told. And I - I think you and I, we - we could be good together. And I would like to make you feel good. Not just sex, just… You know?”

“Jesus Fitzgerald Christ, Thor, you’re like a dog with a bone,” sighs Loki, but there’s basically amusement there.

“That’s because I know a good thing when I see it. It’s not just that you’re so beautiful and so sexy, there so much more to this. You know what I mean, right?”

Oh my, Loki’s heart skipped an entire fucking beat, did a cartwheel, and is now more or less level with his knees. He wouldn’t have expected such a reaction to a couple of sweet words. He’s fucking blushing.

“Do you know what I mean?” repeats Thor, more deliberately, with intent. And shyly pulls one lock away from Loki’s eyes. “Don’t you believe me?”

Loki had a full-body shiver and Thor cannot have missed it. It can’t be fricking healthy, reacting so much.

“Don’t you?” insists Thor.

“I believe you have feelings for me,” he says softly. He can’t deny he’s affected. “And that’s very nice and all. Really nice. But I-I still don’t know that you can handle them. Or me. And it’s true that I don’t know who the hell you are. First you are… well, the way you were when I met you, and now this? My problem is that I - I trust too much, too quickly, and I get attached, and I get excited, and you’re very hot and now also sweet, and I’m afraid, okay? I’m afraid you’re going to break my heart. And I can't have that happen to me again. Not so soon.”

“But Loki, I won’t,” rushes to argue Thor. “I won’t break your heart. I really care about you. As in, you know, _really_ care.”

“Your unorthodox eloquence is very compelling.”

“Oh, come on, give me a break here, I’m trying,” Thor mumbles, all shy, rubbing the back of his neck.

Loki dies some more.

“You’re succeeding,” he mutters.

Which makes Thor look up, eyes bright.

“I mean every word, you know? And the words I’m not really getting out, I mean those too.”

Loki laughs and shakes his head. And sees the heart-shaped sparkles in Thor’s eyes. Dammit.

“You’re different from anyone else I’ve ever known,” says Thor, in full Romeo mode. “You’re… you’re special. One in a million.”

“Right, so only seven thousand others like me in the world.”

“That’s not what I…!” Thor goes to protest, indignant.

“Joking, lunkhead,” interrupts Loki, smiling. Arms crossed, like hugging himself, he looks down to the tip of his shoe, drawing patterns on the concrete. It’s been a while since he was romanced. He doesn’t quite know how to proceed, especially with Thor giving him that _yonder light_ look.

“I want to be good to you,” declares Thor softly, earnestly. “You know, look after you, be there for you, make you feel good.”

Gasp. Wow.

“Do you even know what that means?” mutters Loki, bit choked.

“Of course I…!” goes to bellow Thor. Calms himself down. “I can learn. You can teach me.”

That’s what Loki thought. Sigh.

“Hey, forget what I just said,” says Thor, swiftly picking up some clues in Loki’s body language. “Forget it. Let’s - let’s take this ten steps back. Let’s go back to the start. Square one. All that’s happened, whoosh, gone, we put it in a drawer for later. We’re just two guys who’ve just met, and I like the looks of you, and you like the looks of me, and when people click like that, they… go for a date, right? They hang out together to figure things out. Right? So can we just do that? Please?”

Loki cannot even with the puppy eyes and the begging face.

“Just… hang out with me? Please?”

Sigh.

And you know the worst part? Loki is holding back as hard as he can from just screaming, “yes!”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” he says instead.

And Thor returns a complicated expression, in which disappointment and relief and hope and deflation co-exist at once without really mixing.

“Yeah. Okay.” He sighs. “Okay.”

 

 

Loki is shutting up shop at the tattoo parlor a few days later when he spots Thor across the street, standing by his bike in a sharp navy blue work suit. He looks very fucking hot, even when his demeanor is sheepish and meek. He shouldn’t be here, and he knows it.

Loki finishes locking up, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Thor crossing the empty suburban street very, very slowly. Loki is feeling things. He could probably just face it like a man and call it butterflies.

“Hey,” says that gruff, husky voice. “Can I walk you to your car?”

Loki gives him the eyebrow, and Thor raises his hands, apologetic.

“Just walk, I swear.”

And if Loki isn’t careful, he’ll end up full on grinning.

“Okay.”

They walk side by side.

“Uh, Loki. Have you thought about, you know, what we talked the other day? What I said?”

Has Loki thought about what Thor said? Fucking non stop for the last six days and a half.

“Yeah. Sort of,” he admits.

“And?”

And. And what. He makes the mistake of throwing Thor a glance, and is met with that stunning face beaming with hope and expectation, all aimed towards little old him. He’d be forgiven if he staggered. Oh, Loki. Yes, he’s fucking thought about it. About dating this asshole. About being this asshole’s significant other. About holding hands down the street with this living marble statue of a man. About dining out with him and playing footsies under the table. About spooning with him in bed. About being pounded into the mattress by that fucking force of nature on a regular basis. About making out on the couch under the same blanket. About dozing off on top of each other on a Sunday afternoon while watching an old movie. He’s thought about it, alright. And he’s had to knock himself on the head to remember it was all in his fucking mind. Loki has a wonderful imagination. He’s spent long, pleasurable hours there, dreaming a much better life for himself. He’d move in there permanently if he could. Reality is such a downer, isn’t it?

And yet. One thing reality has over Loki’s fantasy world? Surprises. Surprises like Svad’s lovely family, sure, but there are other kinds. Surprises like this asshole right here. Whoever would have guessed.

Loki likes surprises. Thor is full of them. And those damn butterflies just keep fluttering. It feels so fucking good.

Don’t be stupid, Loki-pokey. _I feel like being stupid, goddammit._

“What did you have in mind?” he asks.

“What… What?”

“I said, what did you have in mind. To get to know each other. What was the plan.”

Thor’s face, sweet gods, Loki should have brought his sunglasses. He still does this smiling with his eyes thing, but now his lips are in it too, and damn.

“Well, I thought, I could take you out on a date. A day-date, I mean. To begin with.”

“What kind of day-date.”

Thor is suddenly so excited, rubbing his hands, animated expression. And was that a tiny hop?

“Right, so. I was thinking. There’s this bike show this weekend…”

Loki laughs. “I swear, you have bikes on the brain.” He doesn’t mean it cruelly. It’s amusing, and sort of sweet. It doesn’t dampen Thor’s dazzling mood.

“Yeah, but they’re historical pieces, and there’s a few weird ancient prototypes and stuff, it’s going to be so cool. They have a Triumph Bonneville, a Norton Commando, a 1950s Manx...”

It’s all gobbledigook to Loki, and he lets Thor carry on, his hands doing so much of the talking, his eyes sparkling. Passion is a good look on people.

“But also there’s, this…” Thor cuts himself off, and blushes.

“Yeah?”

“It’s close to a, uh, a space center. You know, rockets and planets models and asteroid bits and all that?”

“Yeah, like, space,” Loki mocks him. Gently though.

Thor takes it in stride, grinning.

“There’s a planetarium too, and the exhibit is kind of great. My parents used to take me when I was little. I hear they remade it all. It was… pretty. I loved it. Do you, uh, like space?”

Loki is grinning. Can’t help it. It’s likely that there is a conga line of butterflies now in his belly, throwing confetti, possibly drunk. What he was saying about surprises? Well then, _that_.

“I like space,” he says.

“Oh my god, then you’ll love this place!” exclaims Thor, excited as a puppy. “There’s the hall of experiments to demonstrate gravity, and this scale reproduction of the solar system, and they have an entire room about science-fiction and hypotheses about what extra-terrestrial life could be like, depending on the conditions on the planet, and you can create your own alien…”

…And he goes on and on, and Loki wants to push him against the nearest wall and smooch him silly.

“…And there’s a lake nearby, we could have a picnic there. It has a pebble beach. The water’s cold as fuck, but they sell ice cream, and there are rowboats you can rent.”

“Really,” deadpans Loki.

“Yeah, and I’ve always wanted to rent one, but my mom and dad never let me. We could have ice cream on the boat!”

Loki chuckles, shakes his head. This asshole. This frigging asshole!

Thor watches him laugh, and there’s pure devotion in that face, but also a hot, hungry edge that cuts Loki’s right off. Yikes.

“If you like, I could take you. We could go. On the bike. This weekend,” offers Thor carefully.

“I work weekends,” objects Loki.

“I’d get you back in time,” promises Thor, so eager. He asks hopefully, “Would you like that?”

Loki can’t get the grin off his face. “Sounds fun, yeah.”

“That a yes?”

Oh, Loki. He takes one more look at that place of sunshine and hotness that is Thor’s face, and he’s doomed.

“Okay,” he mutters. “Yes.”

A broad, luminous, smile takes over Thor’s expression.

“Great.” It’s all he says, with words at least. The rest of him gives off this slightly smarmy wiff. He looks... victorious, smug. Almost irritatingly so. _There’s my asshole_ , thinks Loki, almost with relief.

And they walk for a few seconds in silence. It’s companionable, but underneath it’s buzzing.

“So, I’ll pick you up at yours, yeah?” suggests Thor. “Saturday, around nine? We better head off soon.”

“Okay. But ring the buzzer and I’ll come down, okay? Don’t just show up at my door...” (...All leather-clad and magnificent, because we’ll never leave the fucking building otherwise, will we?)

“Alright,” says Thor.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

They’ve made it to the sad old Fiesta. The last steps they take really slowly. Loki rummages sluggishly in the pockets of his jacket for the keys. Neither is in a hurry to part ways, that much is embarrassingly obvious.

“So,” sighs Loki, toying with his keys. “See you on Saturday then."

Thor nods. He looks like a kid on Christmas night, excited and happy.

“See you on Saturday.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Silence. Comfortable, warm. It’s Thor who walks away, hands in his pockets, spring in his step. Loki sighs quietly to himself, and gets in the car.

So that happened. He’s fucking reeling. Loki, you have a fucking date. In the sunlight, with witnesses, in public venues, and even the potential for ice cream there somewhere, on a frigging rowboat no less.

Yeah, but actually, no, he shakes himself. This is so not a date. Because you’re going to be clever this time. You’re going to take care of yourself, and you’re not just gonna waltz in there with your fucking heart in your hands, ready to be carved and served back to you with a side of shattered hopes and dreams, and garnished with tears. You’re going to be demanding. You’re going to exact standards, and hold on to them. You’re not just gonna melt after a wink and a smile. It will be a test of character, a trial run. For you, and for _him_. An experiment in the potential of an asshole to turn into a decent, dateable human being. Thor better rise to the occasion, and be on his best game. He will only get three strikes, and Loki will be throwing curve balls.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, seriously, I feel mentally exhausted all the time. I want to write, but I'm just not able to work at it as much as I used to. Lack of re-writing makes for clunky language, complicated, overwrought. I hate that. I don't like to see standards suffering, but I'm afraid if I don't just say fuck it and go for it with whatever I have, I'm never going to get over this point. I just want to keep the stories going. I like telling stories. It's good for me. So anyway that was wonderwall.


	10. J for Joyride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor is taking Loki on a Proper Date.
> 
> Unbeknownst to Thor, Loki is taking him on a Ninja Warrior Run. Or an agility course even.
> 
> Will Thor manage to ring the bell? Will Loki survive this Leather Clad Prince Charming without turning into a fucking puddle or spontaneously self-combust, or maybe even both, one after the other? Let's see, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years...
> 
> I told you, WE DON'T ABANDON FICS IN THIS HOUSE. we may hide from them for months and pretend they can't see us if we can't see them but JUST WHEN YOU WERE ABOUT TO GIVE UP ON US, BANG, AN UPDATE.
> 
>  
> 
> (yes I know joyride is more about stealing cars but hey the PUN, I'm trying dammit.)

 

Thor pulls up in front of Loki in the street, the roar of the beast between his legs subdued now, like a big cat in the sun. He removes his helmet and gives his glorious hair a brief, vigorous shake. He’s wearing so much fucking leather, good _god_. 

He turns to Loki, with that smile that barely touches his lips but fills his blue eyes with humor. And some sparkles.

"Ready?" he asks.

Not on his fucking _life,_ thinks Loki, his heartbeat already all over the place.

He approaches, not doing a bad job at keeping his knees from wobbling. Thor hands him the green helmet. There are hairbands and a tiny brush in the inside pockets of Loki's jacket. There's no avoiding helmet hair today, but he's gonna try for some damage control here and there. He’s put some thought into this. Lots of it, actually.

Thor's eyes are locked on him, like, _tight._  The butterflies in Loki's stomach are either loving it or hating it, but in any case they're not indifferent. Loki throws one leg over the bike and takes his place behind Thor. He adjusts his butt into a more or less comfortable position. All of which, under the unerring stare of those relentless blue eyes, currently appreciating Loki on the bike. Fucking hell. He puts his hands on Thor’s waist, and shit, Loki’s never had sex with so many clothes on before.

Thor shakes his hair out (once more with feeling), pushes it back, away from his face, and pulls on his helmet. He turns on the engine, kicks the stand thing, pushes it forward (even through the leather jacket, Loki can see those guns straining), and off they go, weaving between parked cars at first, then through the traffic, meager on a Saturday morning, and then, they are cruising on the open road.

And they’re off. It’s so fucking good—the wind, the sunshine, the speed, directly impacting their bodies. When Thor leans to the side to take a curve, the three of them go—Thor and the bike and Loki—as one. Loki wraps his arms around Thor’s waist and lets his mind wander. It wanders right into imagining being fucked on that bike. Shit, they’re not even an hour into the date yet, and Loki is already regretting the no-sex rule. Honestly, dude…

The road goes on and on, the beautiful open landscape rushing beside them, the wind roaring, that pesky semi that refuses to go away, and Loki lets the lull from the wonderful state of contented exaltation take him away. It’s easy to forget that this is actually not a date per se, but a fucking agility circuit; Loki has all his hoops and bars and ropes laid out that Thor will have to negotiate successfully, and at the end of it he’ll be awarded points for performance. And before there is a second date, Loki will conduct a thorough, strictly _cerebral_ analysis of whatever goes on today, and then come to a rational, informed decision (for which he will previously need to jerk off several times and possibly use his biggest fucking dildo, and then tune into Judge Judy or something.) It’s just so fricking _nice_ though, leaning on that big, muscled, leather-covered back, the organic scent filling his nostrils, that decidedly animal tang connecting with the animal within himself, putting in his mind thoughts about pheromones and heats and fucking mating seasons. His mouth is watering with the three-course-meal of a man between his legs. (This is fucking hopeless, isn’t it? Clear-headed, rational decisions, his pert, tight, tattooed ass.)

 

Thor pulls up at a dingy old diner by the roadside for breakfast. He makes Loki climb down first, and then he does the slow-mo head shaking thing. It's like a fucking peacock spreading its tail, signaling potential mates about perfect health, A+ genetic material, and sexual availability. (Jesus Christ, won't Loki's thoughts emerge from the haze of lust for a moment, just so that he can have breakfast at least?)

The diner looks like it hasn’t been upgraded since the 1950’s. They sit at a sticky table, Loki’s leather trousers clinging to the plastic seats like an atomic magnet. The menus are those plastic-coated tri-fold things, yellowing and stained. Not exactly the Ritz-Carlton, is it?

“What can I getcha,” says the waitress, chewing a gum in a way that makes Loki think of camels.

“I’ll have coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast,” says Thor without a hitch. “You?”

Loki eyes up the menu while the waitress pats her pen on the pad impatiently, tap tap tap.

“Uh, can I have some pancakes, please?”

“Sure thing. To drink?”

“Coffee, please.”

The waitress smiles at him.

“Oooh, nice manners! A right sweetie, aintcha,” she says, and leaves.

The music is some whiney old country song.

“It should really be Buddy Holly, right?” muses Loki, “to pull the theme together.”

“What theme?”

“The fifties theme,” says Loki.

“Huh?”

“This place,” explains Loki, “it’s decorated like we’re in the 1950s. The music should… forget it.”

The singer whines about his good ole home and his momma or something, with a colossal twang in his words.

“It’s not a theme,” says Thor, after a moment.

“What?”

“This place. It’s always been like this.”

“Right. You’ve been here before then?” Yes, Loki is trying (desperately) to strike up a conversation.

“Not really. It’s just, they’re all like this over here.”

“Okay.”

Loki bounces his leg. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Oh dear. What if his worst fears are true— what if they really don’t have anything to say to each other? I mean, the biking thing is amazing, but you can’t really build a relationship on that, can you? (…Fuck, he wishes they could, because _man.)_

“So, uh,” goes Thor, “how, uh, how do you like your coffee?”

Loki eyes the filter coffee pot on the stove on the counter.

“I suspect I won’t be liking much what they give us here,” he mutters.

Which leaves Thor with a frown and a downcast look.

“Yeah but, when you make yourself coffee… I mean…” Thor rubs his brow, as if getting a headache from putting the question together.

Oh. Oh, _wait_. He’s trying too, isn't he?

“I’m not that precious, really,” says Loki, perky. “Depends on the time of the day? I like it with lots of milk in the morning, and every now and again, if it’s a good cafe or a good Italian restaurant, I’ll ask for a real espresso with a spoonful of sugar. And in the afternoon, sometimes I like a cappuccino. And you?”

“Uh, black, two sugars.”

“Right.”

So that’s that. Silence again. Loki raps his fingers on the table. Rat-tat-tap, rat-tat-tap.

“Do you like cats or dogs more?” asks Thor, in a bold non-sequitur. Random much?

“Uh, cats, I think. And you?”

“I like both.”

“Okay.”

“Do you like Pepsi or Coke?”

Loki is between amused and a bit concerned. What the hell?

“Coke, I think? Why?”

“Just trying to make conversation,” mumbles Thor, indeed, with a _harrumph_. (D’awww he’s all shy about it!) “You said we-we didn’t know much about each other, and, well, I thought we’d try to… ugh.” He fluffs his hair energetically (which is a thing he seems to do when he’s uncomfortable, and how’s that, Loki is beginning to recognize his idiosyncrasies), and turns to the window, sullen. Embarrassed as fuck, bless. He looks so fucking adorable Loki could kiss him.

“I have two brothers,” says Loki, guessing he’ll make an effort too.

Thor gets him. He smiles, relieved.

“Older or younger?” he asks.

“Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, stack’o’pancakes, two cups of coffee. Can you please move the sauces for me, honey. Thanks. Anything else I can getcha?”

She leaves and takes the moment away with her. They eat up in silence. The coffee is as horrible as Loki feared, but the pancakes, to be fair, are really good.

 

The bike show is a lot bigger than Loki had imagined, and very crowded. You get your rough bikers of all genders, their girls, and also lots of mainstream looking people, mostly middle-aged couples that look like money, and others more of the wannabe type (wannahave in this case.) It’s something Loki’s been both dreading and anticipating, the bike show—the designated spot for Thor’s Challenge Number One.

Now, a bit of context. Because there is a reason why Loki does things, actually. Once upon a time, in Art School, Loki dated this guy—he was actually Loki’s first boyfriend. First everything, really. We’ll call him Guy #1. Really sweet, really nice, really into lots of things that Loki was also into, really into getting his cock sucked by Loki, not so much into reciprocating, but that was fine. Loki loved the smooching, the holding hands, the dancing and making out in gay bars. Loki’s first experiences in this brave new world. But Guy #1 had a big problem. Whenever they weren’t in a gay bar or at home, #1 wouldn’t hold hands, wouldn’t hug, let alone smooch. He told Loki it was for both of them, to "spare them headaches," that "it wasn’t anyone’s business anyway," and that "it wasn’t that important" because "they knew what was what so who cared."

Well, _Loki_ cared. He cared one hell of a lot about being spoken to and treated like a _bro_ and a _pal_ by a guy whose dick had been in his mouth half an hour earlier. But did Loki ever say that to Guy #1? Did he ever protest, complain, put his case forward, insist that (air quotes) if people didn’t care and it wasn’t their business (close air quote), then why hide? No, he did not. And the cherry on the cake? It was Guy #1 who broke up with _him_. Talk about a thorn in Loki’s side. He still fumes when he remembers.

Then there was that art teacher he saw a few times in Art School, during his Pink Period (yes, he had one. Neon pink and black. Problem?) They fucked about four times and went on one single date, when the guy told Loki they were going to a “normal restaurant” and could he please “dress more straight.” He didn’t say “dress formally.” He fucking said “more straight," the fucking asshole.  And did Loki tell Guy #2 to go fuck himself, he would wear whatever he wanted to? Oh no. Loki put on some chinos and a white shirt and some loafers, took off his piercings, and wore his hair down to hide the undercut, like a right little bitch; he laughed at all the guy’s jokes all night, and then they fucked at the guy’s place. And Loki really liked the guy, because he had a sexy voice and sounded so authoritative, and to be fair, he gave great head and loved eating ass and he taught Loki a thing or two, and Loki had a big crush, okay? But then the guy called less and less, and he never really broke up with Loki, but he looked away from Loki once as they crossed paths on the campus, and Loki was confused and distraught and… ashamed, somehow? That he hadn’t been enough? That he hadn’t managed to secure the guy’s interest? After jumping through all those goddamn hoops to... to _keep_ him?

So, when Loki was preparing for this date, trying to define the Standards Thor Needed to Meet, Guy #1 and Guy #2 immediately came to mind. Because several years on, Loki is still bitter about going along with it all, swallowing it down, and never once fucking protesting, never standing his ground, never demanding what was Fair. Add to that the Svad situation, and well, you see why this whole area is kind of tender.

Today, this is going to be the first Red Line. It’s very fucking important. Thor had better not fuck this one up, because it’s an instant three strikes and he’s out.

 

Back to the present day and times, and present Loki, who’s gone to some lengths to prepare for this date and dress for the occasion. He toured a few thrift shops until he found a leather jacket and leather pants he liked and could afford (and that didn’t smell like some old guy had smoked and boozed himself to death in them, among other unsavory possibilities). Underneath, he’s gone a bit more _his_ way. He expects it’s going to make quite a splash. It's a test of character, so to speak. For Thor. And any minute now, he’s gonna take off his new(ish) leather jacket, grab Thor’s arm, and walk into the exhibition tent swinging his hips like a queen, looking every bit like a man who takes that huge blond beautiful leather-clad fucker’s dick up his ass and is not shy about it. 

Any minute now. Really. Loki looks around―so many people, the rough bikers. _Ugh._

Shit, this never gets any easier. It’s not a good feeling, is it? The wave of revulsion and disapproval coming from strangers who know nothing about you. He likes to think himself as braver than he used to be, but he’s not crazy, and he knows that, no matter what Thor does, it’s not going to be just between the two of them if this goes wrong.

He has a knot in his stomach. If Thor fails him now, he’s going to feel very, very lonely.

“Oh, wow, look at that,” says Thor, completely oblivious to Loki’s many-splendored little meltdown. He’s leaning over to check out what seems a motorbike stripped to its barest components, sort of like a buff bicycle.

“Triumph Model H,” Loki reads the plaque, “1915.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” says Thor, excitement making his eyes glint. “It’s one of the very earliest motorbikes. I mean, they invented cars not long before! Look at this― isn’t it incredible? They say it was super reliable. Like, they still get them to work these days! You have to crank it up and run to get it started. Isn’t it cool? Oh my god, a Honda Bullitt, look!” Thor runs to the next exhibit.

Loki can’t lie―he’s not too impressed with the bikes. He admits it’s a problem of ignorance and lack of context. What he _is_ impressed with, however, is the excited puppy checking those weird skinny primitive machines from every angle, crouching and leaning to get closer views of their different parts. He’s enthusiastic. He sparkles. Passion really is such a good look on people. Loki can’t take his eyes off him.

And so, he decides, the time has come. Here we go.

“Can you hold this for me a sec?” he says, handing his jacket over to Thor, who takes it without much thought, his attention completely caught by the Tamagotchi Whatsit.

He takes a small breath and removes the black sweater, quickly, before he can change his mind. Underneath he's wearing a black t-shirt Loki has _upgraded_. It used to feature the shield of Queen, the band, in white; Loki painstakingly colored in the letters pink. Then he took a pair of scissors to the t-shirt, applying liberally. The crew neck was opened wide, and the hem was cut off more or less 4 inches above Loki’s navel; only with that huge neck, when the top hangs off Loki's shoulder, the bold slant and a rush of wind will cooperate to flash Loki's pierced nipples to the onlookers (yes, he put the piercings back on, the belly-button one too, just for today. He wonders if Thor will like them.) So basically his chest screams "Queen" in pink, and seventy-five percent of his tattoo is on show, as well as plenty of skin. A long, narrow, raging pink silky scarf provides the finishing touch to this unabashedly camp re-think of the leather-babe look.

Loki instantly starts detecting the _stares_. He gulps, and steps closer to Thor, by instinct.

“Fuck,” says Thor.

Loki’s attention leaves the onlookers and turns to his date, who is staring and gaping, his eyes running up and down Loki’s rack once, twice, thrice, in shock. The belly-button piercing is glinting in his greedy eyes. Loki levels him with a bold, challenging stare.

“What?” he says, trying to sound like he’s not a mound of expectant, wobbling jelly on the inside.

For a second, Loki is not sure if Thor is going to turn away in shame and horror. It’s a very long, very tense fucking second, no idea what’s gonna happen next. This could be quite a short date after all.

Thor is not doing much at all, but the key is really in what he does _not_ do. He does _not_ look nervously around, shifty-eyed, and he does _not_ shrink in embarrassment, and he does _not_ try to put distance between them. No sir. When he’s done taking stock of Loki’s attire, or scarcity thereof, his eyes lock on Loki’s, hazed with unmistakable lust, and smirks like a fucking predator. And Loki takes another little breath and grabs his arm, and Thor stares at Loki’s hand, and then at Loki again, and he looks _proud_. No, not proud, he looks _smug_. He looks fucking _triumphant_.

And Loki feels ten feet tall and made of ivory and gold.

“So which one is that?” he says, like it’s nothing, like they do this every day, as he leads Thor by the arm to the next display. He can barely contain a grin because Thor’s attention has abandoned the bikes entirely. It seems he can’t get enough of the babe hanging from his arm.

Several _squares_ frown and wrinkle their noses at them, and a couple of rough bikers eye them with considerable hostility. Thor meets their eyes and _stares them down one by one._ They _all_ end up lowering their gazes and submitting to the powerful, fearless alpha in their midst.

Oh dear, this could still be a very short date, but for entirely different reasons. If Thor grabbed him and bent him over the next Fuckasaki Whatever and claim him right there, Loki would be totally down for it, goddammit.

And what do you know! Thor passed test number 1 with flying flaming glittering rainbow colors. And Loki is giddy with joy about it. _Yissss..._

Eventually, the bikes regain at least some of Thor’s attention, and Loki gets a thorough earful of technical data, curiosities, and trivia rising in between expressions of enthusiasm. Thor is having a whale of a time. Loki listens with half an ear, missing pretty much everything about gears, stirrups, engines, mileage, and all that shit he’s never given a fuck about, but still nods and throws in questions and comments to encourage even more of it, his eyes never leaving Thor’s face. He is a total absolute  _wonderful_  nerd! Who knew?

“Have you always loved bikes?” asks Loki, when Thor gives him a second to slip in a word edgeways.

“Not really. Sif got me into it.”

“You’ve been friends for long?”

“High school.”

“How did Sif get into it?”

“Her step-brother Heimdall had a Harley and a couple of Yamahas and used to take her for rides. He taught her how to ride them. And she taught me when we dated.”

“Oh, you guys used to date?”

“Long, long time ago,” says Thor alarmed, like that’s an issue.

Loki finds himself smiling reassuringly. _Really, really not an issue, doofus._ Even Loki's silly self with all his insecurities can see that Thor doesn’t look at Sif like he looks at little old him, and never has. At anyone, really. Makes a guy feel special.

 

They finish the tour of the bike exhibition with their arms around each other’s waists and their heads high, like fucking royalty. It’s a rush.

“That was fun,” says Loki, as Thor prepares his bike to drive them both to the next stop on their date, while Loki puts on his sweater.

“What, the bikes, or…?”

“Both,” grins Loki wickedly.

 

***

 

The space center is busy on a Saturday afternoon. They perambulate amid the scale models of planets and stars and reproductions of lunar landing vehicles, duck their heads inside the rocket, and watch projections and simulations. There are plenty of hands-on things to do, but throngs of excited kiddies are monopolizing them. Thor isn’t talking much.

“So you have two brothers,” he says eventually. “How many years between you?”

“Hel is two years older, By is three younger.”

“You guys close?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.”

“Where from?”

“Up north.”

“Was your school big or small?”

“Uh, medium, I guess.”

“Town, city, village…?”

“What’s with the third degree?”

Thor shrugs. “Making conversation.” That sounded like a deflection.

Loki is starting to strike a few points off Thor’s score for not being able to give straight answers when things get personal, when Thor, staring at a pretty diagram of Mars, says,

“I’m just wondering what you were like as a kid. Trying to work that out.”

Oh. As in, _awww_. (The score spikes up all on its own.)

“I was a chubby kid,” says Loki.

“Get outta here.”

“I was,” laughs Loki. “I spent most of my time sitting down with my sketchpad and my walkman, eating sugar.”

Thor grins, fond and amused.

“I wore glasses until I was twelve, and my skin was a fucking disaster,” adds Loki.

“I just can’t see that.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any photos of that period. They all stayed back home and I haven’t been there in yonks.”

“You get along with your folks?”

“Not much. I was always kind of the black sheep of the family.”

“Oh?” Thor turns, curious.

“I’ve never performed my gender in a conventional way.”

“Huh?”

“I pierced my ears when I was thirteen, and at sixteen I wore makeup and insisted on wearing tutus over skinny black jeans and Docs. Things like that.”

“Right,” Thor is frowning, maybe putting together the mental image Loki has just described. “Why?”

“Why not? I looked good after I had a pretty dramatic growth-spurt and started rocking the heroin-addict look. Old ladies used to cross to the other side of the street when I walked by.”

Thor laughs. Shit, he dazzles. Loki is getting a taste for this.

“Mentally, I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb,” Loki elaborates. “I got criticized even before I understood what I was being criticized for. People had me pinned down as dodgy ever since I refused to join the football team and preferred hanging out by myself and drawing. So the moment I learned what I was, and what I was not, and what people thought about it, I lashed out. I was going to get it anyway, so I might as well just fucking earn it.”

Thor looks at him intently. It _mmmight_ be quiet admiration keeping his eyes so bright.

“I was the uncoolest boy in town, though.”

“Uncool?”

“Yeah. I was obsessed with 1960’s performance art and everything from the Baroque period and fucking German synth music… Like, I thought Bowie was a sell-out and I idolized Yoko Ono.”

Thor laughs so loud two mommies turn to stare in alarm. And even though it’s him Thor’s laughing at, Loki grins, more than a little bit charmed.

“So, you’ve always been like that, then” Thor says.

“Like what.”

“You.” His eyes are definitely wide with something there’s no mistaking, and Loki blushes, suddenly hovering one foot above the floor from the butterflies that have taken flight in his stomach.

“I guess,” he says.

Thor says, “please tell me you’ve changed your mind about David Bowie.”

 

***

 

“ _Jupiter is the giant of the Solar System, with a mass that is two and a half times that of all the other planets in the Solar System combined. Like Saturn, Jupiter is a gas giant…_ ”

The cloudy red beauty fills the screen. Loki turns to Thor by his side, his eyes full of stars and a little grin on his face. Loki wonders to himself if he could ever get used to this sight. Right now, he’d be willing to try, but somehow he suspects ten years from now he would look at that face and still feel struck by its beauty.

Thor notices him staring and turns to look at him, and fuck, the fucking butterflies. He’s not looking at the screen anymore, but there still are stars in Thor’s eyes. And just because he feels like it and because he is allowed, Loki holds Thor’s hand.

Thor seems to have gotten lost in Loki’s eyes now. He won’t stop staring. Loki turns his face away, holding back a smile. Thor’s big hand squeezes his. Fuck, this is nice.

 

***

 

Loki is enjoying the moment, peacefully adrift in the rowboat. He’s had to rush to finish his ice cream, which was melting under the afternoon sun and running between his fingers. After, he dipped his hands in the lake to clean them up and splashed some water on his face. There is a soft breeze caressing his face, and the whisper of the trees around the lake are so soothing in his ears, as well as the gentle splash of the oars - Thor rows very slowly, just a minimum effort to compensate the currents. He’s taken off his shirt, and his hair is flowing in the breeze. Loki splashes more water on his face and neck, because hot damn.

“Do you, uh, like movies?” asks Thor.

Trying to make conversation again?

“Yeah,” he answers. “Who doesn’t.”

“You’d be surprised,” says Thor.

Loki raises an eyebrow.

“Some people are… not bothered,” says Thor. “I mean, they’ll watch them, but they don’t… feel much about them? They don’t love them or hate them, they’re just… films? Something to pass the time. They watch them and then forget about them.”

Okay, Loki is intrigued.

“And you? Are you bothered?” he asks Thor (shirtless, hair-down, golden Thor, bulging muscles pearled with sweat, fucking _sigh_.)

“Uh, yeah. I love films,” replies Thor enthusiastically.

Cool.

“What’s your favorite movie?” asks Thor.

“I can’t pick just one. I sort of have a fave for different moods and different days, you know what I mean?”

“Absolutely,” says Thor.

“And there’s some I don’t even want to rewatch but they still mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, I totally get that. So tell me one.” His face is animated with attention and excitement.

“ _Road to Perdition,”_ says Loki. “Have you seen it?”

“Fuck, yeah, I love that film.”

“I think it’s because of all those fathers and sons,” says Loki, gaze wandering over the lake. “They were mostly shit dads, but they loved their kids unconditionally.”

Thor is staring intently again, curious. Touchy territory. But he’s asking a lot from Thor, so he should give back this much at least. 

“I have a shit dad,” explains Loki. “His business went to shit and he started drinking, then he pretty much disappeared. Not before he slapped me a couple of times for my forays into sartorial transgression, unfortunately. Anyway, I watch that film and… Well, those shit dads, they would kill for their sons―they actually _do_ kill for their sons. I can’t help but… Anyway.”

There’s a loaded silence. Heavy stuff.

“So do you have a film like that? That means something special?” asks Loki, opting for shortening the awkward pause himself.

Thor’s eyes lose focus, turning to himself, inside. He’s honoring Loki's confession by taking the question seriously.

When the answer comes to him, two rosy spots suddenly appear on his cheeks. Fascinating.

“Which one?” prods Loki.

“Uh. _My Own Private Idaho,_ maybe?” says Thor, bashful. (Goodness, he’s adorable.) “You know it?”

“Yeah. Love it.”

“Me too!” jumps Thor. The boat rocks a bit and all. They laugh.

“It’s a weird one,” says Loki.

“Yeah. Sif rented it with a few others the one time―she made like a selection of movies with a bit of queer in them. I think she was trying to say something. Anyway. We were kids. The other guys made a big fuss about the lesbians, but with this one, they pretended to retch. I didn’t. And it’s not like I was super-mature and sensitive or anything. I just… I was totally caught up in it. We were already starting to get into motorcycles, and all those long roads and open skies… And it was a completely different thing from anything I knew. And those two guys… I remember I didn’t think much about it back then, about guys liking guys and all. Didn’t bother me much either way. I have an uncle who’s gay, and my family were always okay with it. They didn’t fill my head with hate or bigotry or anything. Not saying I was enlightened, but just, you know. So when they’re around the fire and Keanu says, “I just do this for money, two guys can’t love each other,” and he’s so matter-of-fact about it, and then River says, “well I love you and you don’t pay me,” and he’s so… He acts and sounds so sheepish, but he’s… Well, I guess he's being really brave, and Keanu is kind of… He says “alright, com’ere”, because he cannot love him back the way River does but he… still loves him, I guess? And they hug and sleep together by the fire, and I… I mean, I didn’t know about myself, that I liked guys too. I just know I really loved that moment they had. I had a monumental crush on both of them. I thought it was hero worship, or that I wanted to be like them or something. I cried like an idiot at the end, and I was so furious at Keanu for turning his back on everyone and leaving River like that. And I remember I was totally turned on when Keanu kisses old Bob. I used to think about the thing they’d had so much, wondering what had happened, realizing it was about sex and… fuck, I was dying for the details. None of that rang any bells until much later, by the way. But when I first…” Thor trails off, and looks away, suddenly nervous.

“What?” prompts Loki.

Takes Thor a moment.

“Remember that bit when Keanu and River are on the motorbike together? With the sunglasses and the leather jackets and all?”

Loki bites his lip.

“Hadn’t seen it in a long time.”

“Anyway,” says Thor. “They look cool as fuck. And hot. And what they have is so tender. Keanu looks after poor River so much―before everything goes to shit, that is. Anyway, in that moment, it’s the two of them against the world. I sometimes remember that when I ride. And when I first took you for a ride, I sort of. I, uh.”

Loki raises an eyebrow, with a little baffled grin. Thor is still casting his gaze upon the waters.

“I don’t usually ride with people,” says Thor. “It always used to be me and the GPZ and the road and nobody else. Sometimes Sif, but I think she feels a bit like me. For us, other people usually get in the way. They distract. You want to be with the bike, in the moment, and other people have never fitted, they… take me out of the moment. But you... don’t.” _Harrumph_. “You make it _more_.”

Thor’s said all that with no discernible expression, eyes stubbornly away from Loki. So it takes him by surprise when he finds Loki has sneaked close and is right in his face. And he's not ready for it when Loki puts a kiss on his lips.

Now he _is_ staring at Loki. He can’t take his eyes off him. Loki doesn’t bother to hide the hearts in his eyes. He reclines again on the boat, throws an arm over the side, dips his fingers in the water, that seems to tug at him gently as the currents toy with them.

This is one of _those_ moments, the kind all the posters of tropical sunsets with super impressed inspirational quotes are forever talking about. One for the mental scrapbook, sweet and perfect and entirely out of the ordinary.

No matter how this ends, thinks Loki, this is already good enough. Already something he will treasure, with all its bumps and highs and lows. 

Shit, he's in love, isn't he? Yikes.

 

***

 

 

“So, did you have a good day?” asks Thor as they walk to the bike to head home.

“I had a _great_ day,” says Loki, hands in his pockets, feeling his feet aren’t touching the ground. “It seems you have a knack for it.”

“For…?”

“Showing a guy a good time. It turns out that surprise breakfast date was not a lucky one-off. Who knew.”

Thor’s smile takes that easy turn from cocky to smarmy.

“Yeah, I bet Svad didn’t keep any ice cream in the shop’s backroom,” he says, all smug.

Loki has screeched to a halt. Thor keeps walking. Hasn’t even realized. He’s looking for the keys in the inside pocket of his jacket and is already releasing the helmets from the security chain.

“What,” he says, when he finally notices Loki five steps away, frowning, an angry twist in his mouth. And when Loki doesn’t answer, he shrugs. “What?”

Loki can’t fucking say. He’s pissed off, hurt, and upset, but he can’t verbalize precisely why. Too fucking full of it.

Thor is staring, his stare purposely blank, as if he doesn't even want to acknowledge that he’s noticed Loki being upset about something. If Loki wanted to, he could swallow it down, and let it go.

That little, shaky voice inside... _You've had such a great day. And you can’t even articulate what the problem is. Maybe you should keep the problem to yourself until you can put it into words, deal with it calmly some other time. After you've processed it_. The cover of the full helmet feels very tempting all of a sudden. He could put the visor down and then Thor wouldn’t see his face or his eyes. Loki could very well _not_ deal with this right now, if he wanted. All he has to do is say, "never mind."

Another voice, not so shaky:  _Or you could just lie down and let Thor start walking all over you already. It’s how it’s going to end anyhow. Might as well start now._

Loki gulps, and he makes a stand.

“I didn’t like that,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That thing you said.”

“What thing.”

“About Svad.”

Thor looks away; a little thing he does with his eyebrows pisses off Loki even worse.

“Is it a taboo subject or something?” says Thor. “Not allowed to criticize?”

“That’s not fucking _it_ ,” hisses Loki, his anger acquiring definition, its edge getting sharper by the second.

“No? What is it then?” Thor confronts him. 

 _Ooooh boy._ Now Loki’s fucking huffing.

“Don’t… fucking do that.”

“What.”

“I’m fucking trying to say something here. Something that… that matters to me.”

“So say it," Thor riles him.

“You’re making it very fucking hard, and you _know_ it. You’re not fucking interested in what I might be upset about, are you?”

Thor frowns, confused now.

“Why do you say that? Of course I don’t want you to be upset.”

"That's not what I said."

"No?"

"You want me to stop being upset spontaneously? You don't want to hear why I'm pissed off, see if you can do something about it?"

"I... I do," says Thor dubiously.

“Then fucking act like it!” Loki shouts.

Too bad there isn’t a GPS that can help Thor find his way at this time. He looks completely at a loss.

“What… do you mean?”

“Fucking finally! Progress!” snaps Loki. Which, granted, might not be the most charitable thing to say now that Thor is actually trying. Loki takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. This is so fucking hard. Confrontation is not in his comfort zone. “I’m trying to fucking help you here,” he grumbles. “I’m telling you what I need so that you don’t have to figure it out yourself. I’m pretty sure that’s a big deal in grown up relationships, if that’s what you’re trying to have with me.”

Thor’s frown is of an epic depth now. Loki tries.

“I got so pissed off because… Because it felt like you didn’t want to hear me. You cut me down. Talked over me. Won the argument, before it started, even. You… didn’t come through at all like you were actually fucking listening to try and do better. Am I wrong?”

Thor replies by looking at his feet. He shrugs. That’s how a ten-year-old concedes a point. And Loki will chalk that in the ‘progress’ column for the moment and move on to the next thing. But fuck, it’s like pulling teeth.

“About Svad, I didn’t like you… bringing him up. I… don’t want you to… make comparisons or…”

“You mean compare myself with your boss, who happens to be your ex-boyfriend, and who you still work for, in his fucking shop?” says Thor, pissy.

 _Ooooooh right_. Now Loki _sees_.

“What, you need me to massage your ego, is that it? Are you feeling insecure?”

Thor looks pretty badly hit now, and unhappy about it.

“How can I possibly make you understand…?” Loki trails off, his patience badly strained.  _Ugh_. “You know what? I _don’t_ have to tell you again. I shouldn’t have to. I’ve _told_ you already, several times. That’s _over_. Me and Svad. Done. In the past. If you’re going to need me to reassure you again and again… I’m not gonna do that, okay? I want to get on with my fucking _life_.  It doesn’t make me feel good, okay? what happened with him. And you bringing him up, reminding me of him… Just don’t.”

Thor looks pissed off and moody and also blank.

Loki huffs, frustrated, but standing his ground. He crosses his arms and looks away.

“I’ll try not to do that again,” Thor mumbles after a while, through clenched teeth. That was hard for him. He’s still spiky, but now the grumpiness looks more like frustration than a fighting stance.

Loki wonders if this kind of situation is going to be a constant in their budding relationship. If he’ll spend half the time struggling painfully to point out the things Thor does that hurt him, explaining why they matter, obtaining an apology, a promise to do better, and then they start all over again the next day or the next hour. If that’s how it’s going to be… _You always knew you weren’t dealing with a super-sensitive, mature guy here. You had lots of reasons to turn him down. Did you think they’d just up and disappear?_

Then he remembers the fierce look of pride on Thor’s face walking around the bike exhibition with his Flaming Gay Date by his side, his starry eyes in the Planetarium, his surprising candidness on the rowboat.

“Okay. If you promise you’ll listen to me, I’ll try to tell you what upsets me.”

“I just listened, didn’t I?” Thor grumbles.

“I just want to make sure you get it,” says Loki, whose mind and arguments are becoming clearer as he gets to speak them out. “It’s got to work like this. This is about… making each other feel good, right? Basically? Bottom line? That’s the reason for getting together, isn’t it? Like, what else is it?”

Thor _is_ keenly listening now, intrigued. Loki continues, feeling bolder.

“So, if you tell me you don’t like something, I don’t get to argue with that. I don’t try to convince you that you’re actually fine with it. I don’t try to make you get over it. I _have_ to respect how you feel and accommodate you as much as I can. And you have to do the same. Because I’m supposed to care more about how you feel than about the fucking _thing_. Right? Fuck the thing! It’s _you_ I care about. You get what I’m saying?” Loki stares intently, looking for a spark of realization in Thor’s eyes. “And the same goes for you,” he adds. “And if you don’t understand what’s the problem, you ask, sure, but you ask _sincerely_. In a way that is not… confrontational, that doesn’t make me feel… afraid to tell you these things. You don’t get upset about it. You don’t take it personally either. It’s the _thing_ that pissed me off. We can amend the thing. We can try and make it better. Together. But only if this doesn’t become a pissing contest about who is _more_ _right, or_ a no-go area because you get grumpy hearing about it.”

Thor looks grave and definitely thinkative. He nods, and his heavy frown makes his nod all the more meaningful.

“And another thing,” says Loki, who is on a roll and feeling pretty damn great about it. “Jealousy. Absolutely _not_ acceptable. You _have_ to trust me. Understand? I’ll say it once again, even though I shouldn’t. I am done with Svad. _I am not interested in Svad._ I am with you now. Okay?”

Thor nods quickly, looking chastised now.

Loki sighs. Maybe he should leave it there, but he can’t. He’s not perfect, alright?

“We just had a fucking _perfect_ time together,” he says softly. “What in hell made you think I’d be remembering Svad and sighing or something, that you had to push me for reassurance?”

Thor throws him a sideways, resentful squint.  

“So you… get a psychologist or read self-help books or whatever you need, but jealousy, possessiveness, and mistrust drive me out of my fucking _mind_. The only place I’ll tolerate it is in bed, if we’re role-playing or some shit. But not in ordinary life, and not even in your _head_. Yeah? If you can’t take me at my word right now, I… it’s just not going to work out. If you can’t sort that out, I don’t want to do this with you. Clear?”

The clench of that powerful jaw is both ridiculously hot and slightly menacing. Thor’s absurdly blue eyes look dark and stormy under a considerable frown.

It takes an age before he speaks.

“Can I say something.”

“Of course.”

Thor huffs. Makes him look like an angry bull.

“All he had to do was tumble you in the back room of his shop, and you thought he was the love of your life,” he grumbles low. “And you’re _still_ working with him and seeing him every day. I know I’m not… artsy like him. I’m not fun and sweet and I’m not a laugh. And me and you, we didn’t start off on the best foot. So yeah, I do feel a bit threatened. Sometimes.”

Loki considers how to handle this, but what comes out is totally spontaneous.

“You’ve said it yourself,” says Loki softly. “All he did was tumble me in the fucking back room of his stupid shop. You… went out of your way to get over the rocky start we had to get a date with me. You made me feel like I really matter. And then you take me out and… I’ve had a fucking wonderful time today, Thor. Really awesome. And you?”

Thor stares, suspicious.

"And you _are_ sweet and fun," mumbles Loki, flustering. “You’re already _miles_ ahead of Svad, you fucking idiot.” 

Which puts a fierce edge on the barely-there grin Thor turns to him now.

“But this is the last fucking time you’ll get this kind of thing for me,” warns Loki. “If you keep mentioning him, I’ll start by pretending I’m deaf, and if you don’t stop, I’m out of here. No matter how cute you are. I’m very fucking serious.”

“You think I’m cute?” grins Thor.

Loki rolls his eyes.

“Were you even listening to me?” he snaps.

Thor looks away, sighs.

“Yeah. Yes, I was,” he says. "As a matter of fact."

“And?”

“And… yeah, okay, you’re right. I heard you. And you’re right. And I’ll try.”

“Do better than that.”

“Right, right. _‘Do or do not. There is no try.’_ I get you.”

Loki chuckles.

“Okay, young Padawan,” he says, now amused. “I’ll be late for work if we don’t get a move on.”

“If the boss gives you any trouble, you tell me,” brags Thor, as he throws one leg over his GPZ.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he owes me a bunch of favors. Me and my gang are unofficial security for that place. We save him a lot of money.”

“Except when it’s you personally causing trouble,” counters Loki, remembering some recent incidents.

Thor smirks and does his little head shake before he puts the helmet on.

“Still. If you tell Jed you’re with me, you’ll be alright.”

“I’d rather just show up on time.”

Thor pats the few inches of seating space behind him.

“What are you waiting for then?”

Loki puts the helmet on and climbs up. He slots himself snugly behind Thor, wraps his arms around Thor’s waist. His heart, he finds out, is still beating hard from squaring up to Thor and speaking his mind. Turns out, Thor is not the only one who needs to learn and make progress here, if whatever it is they’re getting into is to go anywhere nice.

Pressing against and around that powerful, warm body, Loki can’t deny he has hope for both of them. _Didn’t do half bad today, boys,_ he thinks, mentally patting both their heads. _Not half bad at all._

 

***

 

The ride home. Temperatures have dropped, and the wind has more bite, but in a way that keeps Loki sharply aware of his own body and Thor’s warmth close to him. As the twilight hazes the colors and shapes around them, he zones out in bliss.

Thor pulls up at the parking lot by the bar, and Loki slowly comes back. He’s stiff here and there from holding the same position in the cold. Thor doesn’t rush him.

“Ouch,” grunts Loki. He’s handed over his helmet and is stretching his back. “Well, here we are,” he sighs.

“Here we are,” says Thor. His hair is slightly worse for wear after all that helmeting but improves dramatically after he gives it a good shake. Look at that fluffy mane of gold, that’s _unnatural_. What is more, Loki has been desperate to touch it all day. So he does.

Thor looks at this hand and then leans into the touch, letting his eyes droop. Gives him a nuzzle. Loki touches his face. _Damn._ Kissing him comes so easily that the approach almost doesn’t register. There’s a mutual melting, and a couple of muted gasps as lust hits both of them at the same time. Thor throws his arms around him, and it would take a fucking hydraulic grip to keep Loki away, and something even more final to keep him from moaning when Thor grabs his ass. They kiss slowly, no rush, savouring it. It’s familiar and  exhilarating at the same time and it’s just so fucking _good_. Fuck the no-sex rule― whose fucking idea was that anyway?

And then Thor breaks the kiss and gently detaches, glassy eyes, licking his lips, which are wet with Loki’s saliva. _Fuck._

“If I don’t stop now I won’t be able to stop at all,” grumbles Thor, husky as fuck.

“So don’t,” whispers Loki, his arms still around Thor’s neck.

Thor chuckles darkly, giving Loki shivers.

“Sif is going to hand me my balls if I’m not a good boy,” he confesses in a murmur. “And I might need her advice in the future. It’s worked like a charm so far.”

Loki snorts. He’s randy and frustrated and he’s shivering with a pure rush of desire, and the proximity of the one he desires. He sighs, epically disappointed, and lets Thor go.

“Anyway, I need to work,” he says.

“You need to work,” concurs Thor, and strokes the hair out of Loki’s face. Shit, that is a big, big weakness of Loki’s.

They look at each other, and nobody is moving.

“Are we okay? I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” says Thor.

Loki pouts.

“I don’t need you to apologize again. I need you to understand what I told you. And agree with me, even.”

“I do,” says Thor. “And I do.”

“Then we’re okay,” says Loki.

“So would you like to do this again sometime?” asks Thor.

Loki chuckles, and then smirks, lopsided.

“Maybe.”

Thor mirrors the playful smirk, which is fucking gorgeous, unbearably sexy to boot. Loki sighs a little. _Our babies will be so fucking beautiful, they will cure world hunger._

 

_***_

 

Thor sits at the table with his mates, drinks beer, laughs at the jokes and banter and gossip, even though he's only barely following it, and that only with half an ear. His eyes can't help trailing after the gorgeous bartender in his tight leather pants and outrageous cropped t-shirt like needy puppies. He can't get enough of that mesmerizing piercing through Loki's navel, of which he had no previous knowledge, and now he's obsessed about. And he might have hallucinated it when they were on the boat, and Loki's top kept billowing with the breeze, but he thinks Loki's nipples might be pierced too? _Fuck._ The tattoo snakes and waves as Loki walks. Between one thing and the other, Thor can't be bothered to pretend too hard that he cares about anything in the world right now besides that boy. 

He gets kicked under the table and teased mercilessly several times. He takes it with Olympian detachment and no intention of amending his ways. This is Thor Odinson in love, and it’s not gonna change any time soon, if he has a say in it. So they better get fucking used to it, right?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you folks for still being around for these kids. 
> 
> And to the new punters, welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's on a dry patch and could use motivation and comments. Desperate enough to beg, as you can see.
> 
> UPDATE: Author is spoilt rotten with the beautiful flood of kind words, y'all awesome. It seems to be working too <333
> 
> update: BEHOLD THIS ART BEHOLD IT!! 
> 
> http://stmonkeys.tumblr.com/post/175611829480/loki-in-leather-for-incredifishface-story-a-is


End file.
